


Unmoored

by Moira_Starsong



Category: Legend of the Seeker, Other fandoms - Fandom, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: (sort of), Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Eventual Canon Divergence, Angst, Crossover, Crossover (but with a twist), Dark Past, Drama, Dwarf/Human Relationship(s), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Foreshadowing, GDIME, GiME, I hope that isn't too many tags, Interspecies Relationship(s), It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It is now, MGiME, Middle Earth, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Mysterious Past, Okay I know its a weird idea but bear with me, Original Character(s), Other, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Smut, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Violence, Weird Plot Shit, Weirdness, after BoFA, and if I put any more warning on here, but this is hard to explain, dark themes, dark!crack, fix-it AU, is that even a thing?, it'll spoil all my hard foreshadowing work, lots of little clues everywhere, seriously, slightly cracky, universe-hopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-12-05 13:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 250,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moira_Starsong/pseuds/Moira_Starsong
Summary: In so many stories, a girl from our world falls into Middle-Earth after she dies in some horrible accident. But what if it wasn't a one-time thing? What if you couldn't turn it off? What if every time you died, you woke up in another universe? It sounds cool at first, but eventually it would become a living hell, wouldn't it? Post-BoFA, but includes flashbacks to the quest. Fili/OFC. Some smut. Dark themes in later chapters.





	1. Unmoored in Space and Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are so many fanfics where a girl falls into Middle-Earth (or some other fictional world) after she dies in some horrible accident, and it just got me thinking, what if it wasn't a one-time thing? What if you couldn't turn it off? What if every time you died, you woke up in another universe? It sounds cool at first, but eventually, it would become a living hell, wouldn't?  
> This is a dark spin on the "modern girl in Middle-Earth" fic trope that I got sick of seeing. Specifically meant as a Trope subversion/inversion. Also posted on ff.net (same username, Moira Starsong), but the smutty scenes are much shorter over there.  
> Only the first chapter/Prologue is in first person POV. It seemed like the best way to introduce the concept.
> 
> I also finally changed my mind and marked the main crossover, Legend of the Seeker, although this is technically one bizarre multicrossover (kinda). If you are coming here from Legend of the Seeker, it takes a long while for Seeker peeps to show up, because all the action is in Middle-Earth .... And I can't say more without ruining it.

[](http://imgur.com/a7QSD51)

_At a tavern in Dale, some months after Erebor has been won back …. ___

__"Where will you go?" The question was asked quietly, earnestly, and bought me out of my dark thoughts and back to reality. Once I would have made a biting joke, at least to myself, about this being 'reality'. But now I just don't have the energy or motivation to do so, even to myself, in my own head. Once that would have worried me, too, but not anymore._ _

__I looked over the wooden table at the weathered, but still attractive, face of the dark-haired Man sharing a beer with me in the wan light of the dingy tavern. I shrugged. It didn't matter where I was going; I was going away from here and would probably never come back. I really should not have agreed to meet with him first, I should have just left. My desire for connection is proving to be a weakness still._ _

__"Don't know yet."_ _

__The normally full lips were set in a hard line, pressed together so hard they almost turned white, and appeared quite thin, too. His brow was heavy and his dark onyx eyes clearly flashed his outrage._ _

__"Thorin should not be throwing you out."_ _

__"He's not."_ _

__"After everything you did to help reclaim Erebor!"_ _

__"This is my choice."_ _

__"After saving his life, his nephews' lives-" His voice is raising in volume now, while mine drops dangerously lower, almost in an imitation of the Dwarf King in question._ _

__"It's better this way."_ _

__"You don't have to be so loyal to him, protecting him even now." He slammed his fist down on the table, making the tankards and silverware clatter. Years ago (decades, I corrected myself) I would have jumped at the sudden noise. Not anymore._ _

__"He's clearly pushing you into this!"_ _

__"It was my idea."_ _

__My companion scoffed. "I don't believe that. This plan stinks of him. Taking Kili and Fili on a 10-day hunting trip so you can quietly slip off? With no word of parting? Nothing?! Just leaving?! That's Thorin, not you!"_ _

__The lightning flashed in my eyes then, and the older (younger?) Man saw it. His righteous anger faltered slightly, before I even responded._ _

__"YOU. DON'T. KNOW. ME!" He stilled at my outburst. My jaw was clenched, my teeth grinding together, a muscle twitching in my cheek. I closed my eyes, summoning all my reserves of calm then, in order to be able to go on without raising my voice in kind again. We were already getting looks from around the tavern, and I had not wanted witnesses. Too late for that now._ _

__"I left a letter in his room."_ _

He tsked me. He actually _tsked_ me! Like some mother hen! Well, he was a parent, and a single one at that. I ignored it and continued.

"I couldn't have this conversation face-to-face. I have tried, I truly have. It's as if he knows what I am working up to and he outmaneuvers me. He'll talk me out of it before it even comes up. I can't risk that happening again. It's gotta end. It's going to."

"You are leaving Dale." It was a statement, not a question.

"I cannot stay in the shadow of the Mountain." My voice was far lower than it had been all night, now, hollow-sounding, even to my own ears.

____"Stay at my house tonight. The girls would be happy to see you again."_ _ _ _

I shook my head, avoiding his gaze. Bad idea. Connections were the problem, not the solution.

The Man reached across the table then, his long fingers easily catching mine. I knew I should pull away, but I didn't. His fingertips were calloused from a lifetime of hard work. He was born on the water, born to oars, and they slid gently on the back of my knuckles, tracing an unknown pattern. _Why couldn't you have fallen for him?_ My mind whispers to me. _Someone closer to your own class, your own station, instead of a damn prince. You keep making the same mistakes, only worse. This time he's not even the same species as you._ I tried to convince myself that it matters, like Thorin says it does (at least as far as princes go). It doesn't work.

"Just one night." Bard was pleading now. This was not good. _Don't do this, not again,_ the whispering voice in my head has a raw edge to it. _You'll hurt him, too._

"You can leave just as easily in the morning. And you won't have to use any of your 1/15th of the gold to pay for a room here, tonight."

I had to bite back a laugh at that. I don't tell him that I'm not taking my share from the quest with me. Well, I have some. But hardly a drop in the ocean of what was to have been my share. Really, 1/15th of all the gold in Erebor? Did he think someone could actually carry that on their person? I couldn't help but pity him a little, to not even be able to imagine how much gold there must have been. How much poverty has he seen in his life to say something like that? What does he define wealthy as? _How do you define wealthy?_ The vicious little viper of a voice whispered and hissed, and then laughed. _He really is just like you used to be,_ the inner voice said again, and it flooded me with guilt, which is just ridiculous. Staying at his house for one night won't ruin him. Will it? Better safe than sorry."I can't ask you to do that."

________________"You aren't, I'm offering." Damn him, why did he have to be so earnest, so persistent, so … good?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"One night."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________His fingers tightened around mine. "Please."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________I sighed. "Will you promise to stop making such a scene if I say yes?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________His smile spilt his face in two, and it looked like the sun had come out on a cloudy day. "Of course."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Stop grinning like a shit-eating dog. You haven't won anything. I'm still leaving tomorrow."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He released my fingers (finally!) and Bard the Bowman – Bard the Dragonslayer, now – spread his hands wide in an expression of mock surrender, schooling his face into seriousness, but his dark eyes were smiling. I sighed. Yeah, this was decidedly NOT a good idea. Too late now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________~000~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________I wish I had died in the Battle of Five Armies. It would be so much easier then, for both of us. It would have hurt Fili, of course. He would've mourned for me. But eventually he would have moved on. He would have fallen in love again. Hopefully with some honorable darrowdam who could give him the true dwarfling sons he deserved. He could go on to rule Erebor with her one day, after Thorin. And maybe it would hurt a little less every day, until eventually I would be only a distant memory to him. A fondly remembered companion and lover, an old friend from a different time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Surviving is harder. I can't be what he wants me to be, no matter how much I may lov …. feel for him. I gotta stop staying the "L" word and reinforcing it. These feelings are … inappropriate. It would have been better if I had died. Fili would be free._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________And I would have woken up somewhere else, some _when_ else. And had to start over again. As I have so, so many times before. When the blaster had shot a smoking hole into my chest, I had hoped (futilely, of course), that this death would be the final one. It wasn't. I woke up in Middle-Earth, smoking ruin in the center of my torso magically repaired, like it had never happened._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________I don't get a happy ending._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________I don't get an ending at all._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Ever_ , apparently. 

________________~000~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________My name, my real name, doesn't matter. I tend to change it a lot, anyway. I think one day I might forget what my birth name even was. It's been so long since I've used it. But I didn't want to be reminded of the life I had left behind, of my little brother who had depended on me, the friends I had abandoned. Even if I could somehow go "home", they'd never recognize me now. Experience changes you. So, it's been decades since I've used my birth name. Here, in Middle-Earth, I go by Moira. The ancient Greek word for 'Fate'. A private little joke with myself, if a dark one. It does seem like I don't get to make any of my own choices anymore._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________I was born human, but something happened to me. I still don't know what. I changed. And no, I don't know how. Maybe I will someday. But I doubt it. It doesn't matter anyway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________I don't die. Well, that's not entirely true. I do. I die. I feel it each time, feel the pain, the fear, the life-force fading from my body (bodies?), the blackness wrapping itself around me, the ice creeping into my soul again. It terrifies me each time, even as each time I hope this one will be the final one. The one where I won't wake up again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________But I do. I die, and I just change universes. Shot, stabbed, lynched, poisoned, sickness, gored by a crazed bull - even old age, once. It doesn't matter how it happens. I die, and reality re-forms around me. I awake gasping, the pain and memory of the death still fresh, but the death-wound gone, my body renewed (is it even the same body? Am I even me?). And I must learn my new world, where I am condemned to spend another lifetime until I die again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Sometimes I recognize the world as one that is mirrored in the fiction my own, sometimes I don't. I've gotten involved in important events, sometimes changing them drastically, sometimes acting as a guardian to the "proper timeline", and I've sat them out entirely. I don't know which is better, which I am meant to be doing, if there is a meaning to this at all. I've made things better, and I have fucked up royally._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________I've tried both magic and science to stop this, in various worlds. I've lived and died. I've fallen in love. I have nine children (well, nine still living, at last count), spread across six universes. I doubt I will ever see any of them ever again. I only pray that my curse is not heredity, and my children will be spared. That they can live their lives in some semblance of peace. Since I've never moved backwards, into a universe I have already lived in, I will likely never know._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________I am unmoored in space and time, and there is no respite or release. I am in hell. I am so, so tired. And I can tell no one._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started out just doing short drabbles in this 'verse' before a story came to me, so the first few chapters are kind of short. I'm going to drop hints here and there about which universes she's been to. Bonus nerd points if you can tell which language is being spoken in the dream, from which franchise! Seriously, it's a really small fandom, but it's my fic and I couldn't resist.

_Several weeks before …… ___

Sometimes the dreams were specific. One time, one place, one person. No matter how bad the memory (and some of them were very bad indeed) those dreams were nowhere near as bad as the kind where it all came together. Like tonight. When the walls separating her many, many lives in her increasingly fragile mind came down and the monsters inside could truly stretch their limbs and dance, crushing what little semblance of sanity she had left beneath their heavy feet. When she dreamt of dark hair and blonde hair and blood-matted hair, blue eyes and brown eyes and green eyes and orange eyes and dead eyes, soft smiles and piercing screams all rumbling together, mingling delight with suffering, of men and women and children and families, and were these all hers? Swords piercing flesh, magic being woven into powerful spells, Empires being built and worlds dying, starlight glimmering and fire from inside a mountain, steeds that nickered and needed to be fed because they were living creatures, and empty metal monsters that roared across the stars and went to other worlds – she had a name for those, once, was she so far gone now? Her many lives now were too different, too far apart from each other, that sometimes her brain fractured and rebelled, unable to contain the knowledge and memory of too many realities within its small, fleshy confines. 

A blaster shot smoking in a chest, a knife twisting in her kidney, a bullet in the brain, and so, so, so much blood. Was this all her blood? The chaos of armies clashing on a battlefield, the ground slick with gore – holding the body of a young girl as she choked out her last breath, her throat savaged in wild strips of bloody flesh – a sword made of fire springs to life in the darkness – the poisoned fangs of some monstrous bug-like creature sinking into her leg – her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she ran through woods, branches hitting her face, the sound of armored soldiers hot on her tail – pain shooting through her as the car (that was one of the words for the metal monsters, car) she sat in crashed into the other – a sense of incomprehensible, suffocating evil invading her soul as a cloud of nasty black smoke rammed itself down her throat – the sensation of her hands being tied above her and being suspended from the ceiling. So much pain. Would she never find a land of peace?

Languages, too, swirled and ebbed in these dreams, words in lilting tones half-remembered, “Myeme tsa.” A wriggling, bloody newborn is placed is her arms, her eyes as golden-orange as her father’s. “Noraka do deta, rutsayo.” So the blood of death is mixed with the blood of life. And oh, Gods, her children. How many did she even have now? She prayed that her curse was not heredity. That when her children died they would stay dead. Her mind couldn’t help the humorless chuckle. How many mothers wished for that?

“Moira?” Was that voice real, or a memory, like the others? “Love? Are you alright?” The language, the pet names being spoken, were in a different language, harsher-sounding at first, but no less beautiful in their way. Her brain struggled to put the overload of information back into their appropriately-labeled boxes and file away the unneeded ones. Khuzdul. The language was Khuzdul. Eyes are focusing now, and a blonde mane of braided hair framing a masculine face becomes clear. A face with two mustache braids, the bright blue eyes shining with worry.

She bolted upright in the bed, her forehead almost colliding with Fili’s nose. Only his cat-like reflexes prevented that. She’s panting, right hand fluttering to her pounding heart, to her neck, to check her left wrist. Checking for half-remembered wounds. The sheets in their shared bed are tangled in her legs, soaking with sweat. This had been a bad one. Fili hovers as close as he dares, wanting to touch her in reassurance. But instead he stays a respectful distance from her, knowing from experience by now that if he doesn’t give her time to come down from the confusion he’ll get a strong punch to the temple for his trouble. Her eyes are still unfocused, unseeing.

“Are you alright, love?” Fili’s voice was low, comforting, his hands hovering near her shoulders, ready to enfold her in his embrace, but waiting for her acknowledgment.

Stilling her breathing, forcing each breath to slow, she finally looked at him, sidelong. “I was … having a nightmare.”

“Really?” He cocked one eyebrow at her, a gesture he had picked up from his uncle. A small thing, that didn’t have the right to be so sexy, especially in this situation. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

She smiled thinly. She didn’t have the energy for their usual repartee, the back and forth of wits they usually enjoyed. Fili reached out slowly, cautiously, and stroked her cheek. She leaned into the touch, eyelids fluttering closed, a soft keening sound unconsciously ripped from her throat. That was all Fili needed. His strong arms enfolded around her, and she crumpled into it, burying her face in his bare chest. One arm was wrapped around her waist, and the other hand was stroking her hair, while he murmured to her in Khuzdul. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, crouched in the middle of the bed, soft sobs coming from her as Fili rocked her. Eventually her crying stilled, and for a few moments they sat in companionable silence.

Fili easily swept her legs to the side of his hip and gently laid the both of them down in the bed. Fili was laying on his back, his golden lion’s mane spread on the satin sheets. Her head was nestled in the crook of his right arm, his left hand still stroking her hair. She had stopped cutting it short, letting it grow. No words were ever spoken between them about it, but he liked to think she did it for him. After all, at the beginning of the quest she had complained loudly about her long, thick hair getting in the way, and frequently cut it, much to the horror of her Dwarven companions. An easy silence settled between them. Once she had overcome her initial nervousness and reluctance in their relationship, they had always been comfortable with silence, not needing to fill the emptiness with idle chatter as many would have done.

“Are you ever going to tell me what haunts your dreams so?”

She stiffened in his arms. And just like that, the walls were back up. “It doesn’t matter.”

He carefully kept his voice gentle. He knew losing his temper would get him nowhere. “It does.”

She lifted her head to look at him, appraising him with her dark eyes. She wasn’t beautiful by Dwarven standards – she had far too little hair, for one thing – but she was alluring nonetheless, in her own fragile, human way. And she had proven herself to be brave and selfless and true. Fili loved her, but he knew in his heart that he didn’t truly know her. She didn’t allow anyone to know her.

“No one can change anything.” Fili heard the bitter edge in her voice and wished to Mahal, not for the first time, that he could understand where it came from and remove whatever pain she carried from her.

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, she had captured his mouth in hers. Her lips were soft, moving gently but insistently. Her tongue was running along his own lips, lightly probing his mouth. He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he should let her attempt at distracting him pass without comment, before he surrendered and returned the kiss. His hand came to up to cup her face, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers. Her small hands were on his broad chest, stroking softly, her skin cooler than a Dwarf’s, who usually burned quite hot. He had always found the difference in body temperature erotic, although he knew some Dwarves found the human trait uncomfortable. He could already feel his body responding to her touch, and as his kisses and caresses became more desperate and frenzied, so did hers. He easily flipped her onto her back in one smooth move, settling his bulkier weight on top of her slight frame. There were no clothes between them; they had already made love earlier that night. She moaned his name wantonly into his mouth, her hands tugging at his braids roughly, the slight spark of pain sending pleasurable fire to his groin.

If she wouldn’t tell him what troubled her so, by Mahal, he would make her forget, at least for a while.


	3. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering, I'm picturing Moira as looking like Eva Green from Camelot or the 300 sequel, only with brown eyes instead of blue. Only she can really pull off the intensity I want (that I hope is portrayed in my writing!). On ff.net I have a cover photo from Camelot for _Unmoored _, but I can't figure out if that's a thing that can be done on here. Edit: well clearly I did figure it out because there's a picture in the first chapter.__

The first time she and Thorin had talked, really talked, without walls or artifice or goals or anger, but just trying to understand the other, she wondered why she wasn’t falling for the Dwarf King instead of his nephew. She had much more in common with him after all, even if he didn’t realize it. She and Thorin had both suffered unimaginable loss, seen things that no one should see, and yet still continued to move in the world, somehow. They survived and persevered, because there was simply no other choice but to do so. She was also much closer to Thorin in age, now, after all the universe-hopping, but of course she couldn’t tell him that. Maybe it was because she and Thorin were _too_ alike. Her temper, when roused, was just as fearsome as the exiled King’s, and she was already prone to brooding enough on her own!

Fili was more reserved than his exuberant younger brother, but he was still filled with joy and mirth. He was less reckless than Kili, but not as severe as Thorin. In a way Fili balanced out the virtues and faults of both his kin. She supposed she was attracted to him primarily because he brought so much light into her world. He made her feel young again. She couldn’t quite forget, but when she was around him, when he smiled that conspiring smile just for her, the horrors of her past receded into the mists of her consciousness, temporarily banished by something resembling happiness. Sometimes when she had the night watch, he’d stay up with her, despite his exhaustion, just talking. She found herself telling him things she shouldn’t have about her past, carefully edited, of course, so that it fit with what he knew of the world. She kept the worst of it to herself, not wanting to see pity in those cunning blue eyes, instead of admiration. But somehow she guessed that Fili knew she was holding something back. He never pushed her.

If Middle-Earth had been the first world she had fallen into, she would have been overjoyed, back then. She had been quite the Tolkien geek, back in the day, before her first death. _What a strange turn of phrase!_ Her mind sniggered to herself. And this world had a beauty and purity that the modern one she was born to sometimes lacked. Of course, if that had happened, than she would not have had the skills needed to be useful on this quest. As it was, when she awoke in Middle-Earth, she already knew how to survive in the wild, how to track and hunt for food, and most importantly, how to fight with daggers and swords. She never had gotten the hang of the bow however, and her aim remained atrocious. But she had learned the hard way how to sword-fight. She had died on a sword several times by then.

~000~

The first time she and Fili lay together was in Beorn’s house. It was late after they had crashed the little homestead. Exhaustion had finally taken the rest of the Company. Even Thorin was snoring soundly, a rare occurrence. The wizard and the hobbit did not look comfortable, sleeping upright in wooden chairs, but asleep they were. Somehow. Only she and Fili remained awake, for once Fili and his brother not on the same page. At first they tried to pass the time by talking quietly, but it didn’t take long to peter out, and they ended up staring into the hearth fire together in a kind of glum, companionable silence. He was the quiet one, out of the Princes of Durin, because he was observant. He saw things, he thought about them, and more often than not he understood them. His mind was quick, often quicker than many of his race. Now, they sat together, Fili smoking his pipe, she stealing glances at him, in front of a hearth fire in a stranger’s home on a Gods-forsaken near-impossible quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. Having once again just faced death together, only hours before.

It wasn’t supposed to happen, but the desperation and fear of having so nearly lost everything (again) had her finally tossing her fear away. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye, and he was watching her watching him. When she made her decision, turning to him, it was as if he saw it in her eyes and knew. He put his pipe out almost at the same instant as she leapt upon him.

She descended on Fili in the flickering light of the fireplace, her lips seeking his in a wordless plea as her hands fisted in his glorious blonde mane of hair. His mouth crashed into hers with equal fury, his right hand clutching her chin tightly – almost painfully. This was not the gentle, slow-burning kiss they had shared in Rivendell, stolen in the library on a rainy day. This was something else entirely, filled with primal want and need.

His other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her body onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, straddling him. She ground herself onto his lap, feeling his length, and he growled into her mouth. The hand on her chin sank, running along her neck, caressing her skin, leaving trails of fire where he touched her. His hand came to the collar of her tunic, and he seemed to hesitate. He pulled away from the kiss and opened his mouth to say something, but Moira was afraid that words would bring her back to her senses. She ground into him again, drawing a harsh curse in Khuzdul from him. She smirked, kissing him deeper, pulling his hair back hard until his head rested on the hard back of the wooden chair.

She continued her assault of his mouth, attempting to dominate him with her tongue. He gave as good as he got. His left hand gripped her hip like a vice. Her hands went inside his cloak, resting on the fabric of his shirt, dipping lower, and it gave him permission to do the same. Soon they were tugging at each other’s clothes desperately.

When the heated kiss finally broke apart, both of them panting heavily, his eyes looked away from her, scanning every corner of the smallholder’s house to find an appropriate place, sufficiently separated from the others. Afterwards they fell asleep in each other’s arms, her head nestled in his strong chest, feeling his heartbeat, and it felt so achingly _right_. It had been the most peaceful sleep she had had in … she didn’t even know how long.

Fili had woken her early, so they would not be caught in a compromising position. They thought they had been quiet, and that the exhaustion from the day’s events would keep the other Dwarves unaware of their activities. They were wrong. They had to endure good-natured ribbing and joking from most of Company, many of whom slapped Fili on the back and congratulated him on his “successful conquest” before she silenced them with a glare. Kili, the overgrown puppy that he was, couldn’t contain his joy for his beloved brother. His face-splitting grin and cheeky winks would have been obnoxious on anyone else; on him, it was endearing. But Moira saw the cold fury in Thorin’s eyes, and keenly felt the way he turned his back on her. She had broken her promise to Thorin that she would not respond to his nephew’s pursuit of her.

“Don’t worry, love.” Fili had whispered in her ear when he saw her face fall, his hot breath on her earlobe, making her shiver. “He’ll come around.” 

There was no time to brood, however, as after breakfast it was off to Mirkwood and the next leg of the quest.

~000~

The first time Fili had yelled at her had bought her to tears, a weakness she hated. Fili was naturally calmer than either his brother or his uncle, and worked hard to maintain that kind of normalized control. But everyone breaks eventually (a fact she knew intimately and violently). She had snuck away from the Mountain, feeling suffocated by the bustling, purposeful, _happy_ Darrows everywhere, hard at work on restoring Erebor’s glory. As much as Fili tried to make her a part of it, she had no place there and she knew it.

Fili, as the Crown Prince, had endless meetings to attend, nobles and guilds and workmen to meet with, documents to read and sign. During the day he was nearly always at Thorin’s side, learning the art of statecraft. Many nights he attended the feasts, although he rarely stayed late into the night anymore. He was a part of life here, a vital one. She spent most of her time in the massive Royal Library that Balin that showed her, reading the few books that were written in Westron, learning the details of the history of Middle-Earth. Some days Ori was her companion in Library, but they didn’t need to speak much. The shy Dwarf, like her, was a reader and they could share the same table in companionable silence for hours.

But she didn’t belong, and she just wanted a respite for one day. There had been reports of Orcs gathering nearby, although nothing substantial. She didn’t pay it much mind, however, figuring she could handle herself, as she had many times in the past. She hadn’t seen a green, growing thing in weeks, and had barely felt the sunlight, since that was only on the upper levels and she avoided that during the day. She longed for the woods, to feel _life_ all around her again. She wasn’t a Dwarf; she wasn’t meant to live shut in a Mountain.

But it wasn’t herself that was wounded, or even Fili. It was Kili, Fili’s precious little brother. If it hadn’t been for Kili’s exiled Elf maid he surely would have perished, again. It wasn’t entirely fair for Fili to blame her – Kili had been out visiting his Elf girlfriend in secret, and would have been near danger anyway. But if she had not been out, he would not have had to come to her rescue when she was overwhelmed by a pack of nearly 20 Orcs, fighting for her life. 20:1 were not good odds, even for her. Kili and Tauriel saved her life, and Kili was wounded in the process.

Part of her feared that it was the universe trying to correct itself. As if Middle-Earth itself sensed that Kili, like his brother and uncle, was supposed to be dead, and was now taking steps to correct the changes she had made. Which was ridiculous, of course. Changing their fates at the Battle of Five Armies didn’t change the fact that their lives would still be filled with peril, especially with the impending darkness that would rise up in 60 years.

Before her changes, it would have been Dain and Bard’s grandson Brand who would be defending the North of Middle-Earth from Sauron in the final days of that future war, she knew. Now, it would be Thorin and his nephews who would have take on that role. She had changed the outcome of one battle, but she could not protect them from the entirety of Middle-Earth. It was up to them now.

Maybe she would take Bilbo up on his offer and go visit the Shire for a while.


	4. At Bard's House / Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having trouble getting used to the html on the site so I have to apologize if the formatting is weird. I just updated it to try to fix the formatting (again!).

As they walked through Dale, Moira began to realize what a mistake meeting Bard before leaving was. If she had hoped for slipping out of Dale unnoticed, that plan was completely blown now. Bard was not anonymous anymore. Even before the Battle of Five Armies, he had emerged as the clear leader of the ragged survivors of Laketown, and not just because he had been the one to slay Smaug. Everywhere the townspeople waved at Bard, and some of the women thrust out their bosoms in his direction, batting their lashes and tossing their hair flirtatiously. Ever the gentleman, he pretended not to notice.

Twice someone stopped the former bargeman to ask his opinion on something to do with the rebuilding of Dale, leaving Moira to mill around the market restlessly. She saw the quick glances to her hair, and didn't fail to notice the disapproving frowns on many of the human faces. She still wore her dwarven courtship braids, with Fili's hand-carved beads at the end of them. It would have been suspicious for her take them out before leaving Erebor. She'd have to take them out when she was in the wild, just in case she ran into any Dwarves she didn't know. But it was too soon for that.

Absorbed in her thoughts, she didn't notice when Bard finished his business and returned to her side. His gentle touch on her elbow made her start. “Sorry to startle you.” He apologized.

“My fault. I should've been paying better attention.” Squinting, she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes. Once again she noticed how tall the Man was. She was short for a human, barely 5 feet, and was only a head taller than Fili, a few inches taller than Thorin. Maybe that was part of why she liked being around the Dwarves, since among the humans she was always the shortest in the room. She hated it.

“Shall we go?” He was polite, as always.

She mock-bowed. “Lead the way.”

They arrived at his dwelling without any further interruptions. His temporary house was grander than the others in Dale, but not by much. There was still much building and restoration to do, and Bard had insisted that his house was no more important than any for the other families.

Tired, she sat down in the most comfortable-looking chair around the large, wooden table that dominated the room. Bard gathered his children and bent his head over them, whispering. Several times the kids glanced at her, and she heard her name at least once. _Uh oh._ She frowned. _What is he doing? Surely he wouldn't enlist his children in this plot to get me to stay?_

He would. The eldest, a girl named Sigrid, scooped up a basket of bread from the counter and approached her, smiling brightly. “It's good to see you again, Moira.” She plopped the basket of bread down on the bare wooden table in front of her. “The stew is almost ready. There's plenty for you, too. Eat.” Not waiting for a response, she hurried away to continue puttering in the kitchen.

Tilda, the youngest, a girl of about 8, climbed into her lap, wrapped her skinny arms around her neck, and grinned her toothy grin at her, and then asked in her sweetest little-girl voice “Moira, would you please help me with my hair?” Her heart melted, despite herself. _Bard, you conniving bastard._

“Sure, sweetie.” Tilda's smile got wider, if that was possible. “Do you have a brush?”

“I have one.” Bard's deep voice responded from across the table. Moira shot him a glare, but he was unperturbed by her fury. He produced a brush from ... somewhere. Had he been carrying that in his pocket? Was he that vain? He didn't seem the type. Or had he acquired it at the market when she wasn't paying attention? Smirking, he offered her the brush. It was definitely brand new. He had planned this. He was far, far more manipulative than she had given him credit for. She would remember that if she ever came this way again. _Don't be stupid,_ the rational part of her mind warned. _You're never coming back this way._

She took the offered brush, but warned “This won't change my mind.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” He responded mildly, that damned twinkle back in his chocolate eyes.

She snorted, telling him exactly what she thought of that. But she couldn't help smiling. “Turn around, Tilda.” She told the triumphant little girl gently.

The girl slid off her lap and pulled up a stool, and obediently turned around, winking at her father. Bard, for his part, pulled out a pipe to smoke as he watched Moira work. She started to gently brush Tilda's hair. She lost herself in the meditative work, and absentmindedly began to hum.

“What are you humming?” Moira looked up, startled for the second time that evening. That was getting far too frequent around this family, and she didn't like it. The question came from Bain, Bard's middle child and only boy. She had lost track of him as he helped his sister in the kitchen, but now he stood next to his father's chair on the other side of the table. “I don't recognize the tune.”

Moira set the brush on the table carefully, and turned back to Tilda, gathering the strands of her dark blonde hair to begin braiding before she answered. “It's a song from my country.

“Where is that?” The boy's curiosity got the better of him. “You never said.”

“A long, long way away. I doubt you've ever heard of it.” She focused on her task, weaving the strands together. She didn't want to answer him, or to have to make up a lie.

“What's it called? Maybe we have heard of it. We're not stupid, you know.”

 _Shit._ She hadn't meant to insult the boy. She should have realized he would be sensitive, with the way she had seen Alfrid treat his father. The slimy former servant of the now-deceased Master of Laketown had probably been none-too-kind to the boy. Or anyone. She sighed. What could it hurt? “America.”

“A-mer-ri-ca.” He sounded the name out slowly, no doubt trying to figure out if the name came from Elvish, Dwarvish, or a human tongue. “What a strange name. What's it mean?”

"I don't know.” She was getting irritated now.

Bard, sensing the conversation spinning out of control, steered it towards a safer direction. “Would you sing it for us?”

“Yes, sing it for us!” Tilda echoed her father's request, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Sit still, or I'll mess this up!” Moira commanded, using her best 'mom voice'. She had been a mother several times. Only once had she been able to watch her children grow up completely and have children of their own, but she remembered this stage very well. The girl stilled instantly. “Will you sing it?” she asked, calmer this time.

“Fine.” Moira sighed again. “I'm not a very good singer, and it won't sound the same without the music.” she warned. Several voices around the table reassured her that it was okay, and they still wanted her to sing.

She centered herself for a moment, and then started to sing softly, still braiding Tilda's hair as she did so. As she sang, the melody and the rhythmic movements of the hair braiding carried her away, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but the song and the quiet girl in front of her, listening.

_Yesterday I died, tomorrow's bleeding_  
_Fall into your sunlight_  
_The future's open wide, beyond believing_  
_To know why hope dies_  
_Losing what was found, a world so hollow_  
_Suspended in a compromise_  
_The silence of this sound is soon to follow_  
_Somehow, sundown_  


_And finding answers_  
_Is forgetting all of the questions we call home_  
_Passing the graves of the unknown_  


_As reason clouds my eyes with splendor fading_  
_Illusions of the sunlight_  
_And the reflection of a lie will keep me waiting,_  
_A love gone for so long_  


_This day's ending_  
_Is the proof of time killing all the faith I know_  
_Knowing that faith is all I hold_  


_And I've lost who I am_  
_And I can't understand_  
_Why my heart is so broken_  
_Rejecting your love_  
_Love without, love gone wrong_  
_Lifeless words carry on_  
_But I know, all I know_  
_Is that the end's beginning_  


_Who I am from the start_  
_Take me home to my heart_  
_Let me go and I will run_  
_I will not be silenced_  
_All this time spent in vain_  
_Wasted years, wasted gain_  
_All is lost, hope remains_  
_And this war's not over_  


_There's a light, there's the sun_  
_Taking all the shattered ones_  
_To the place we belong_  
_And his love will conquer all_  


_I've lost who I am_  
_And I can't understand_  
_Why my heart is so broken_  
_Rejecting your love!_  
_Love without, love gone wrong_  
_Lifeless words carry on_  
_But I know, all I know_  
_Is that the end's beginning_  


_Who I am from the start_  
_Take me home to my heart_  
_Let me go and I will run_  
_I will not be silenced_  
_All this time spent in vain_  
_Wasted years, wasted gain_  
_All is lost, hope remains_  
_And this war's not over_  


_There's a light, there's the sun_  
_Taking all the shattered ones_  
_To the place we belong_  
_And his love will conquer all_  


_His love will conquer all_  


_Yesterday I died_  
_Tomorrow's bleeding_  
_Fall into your sunlight_  


As she came back to herself, Moira realized her face was wet. She raised her hand up to touch her cheek, surprised. Tears had leaked out of her eyes as she was singing.

“Those are dwarven braids.” Bard's voice was soft. Moira looked down at her work. _Oh, crap._ As she had drifted away, her mind on the song, her hands had traveled the now-familiar path of her own braids, the ones she did on herself every day and, sometimes, on Fili. It would not do for Tilda to be seen running around with those braids. Most humans would not have recognized them or known their significance, but any Dwarf would have recognized courtship braids. They would have to come out, right away.

“I like them.” Tilda said, looking at herself in a tiny, handheld mirror her sister had handed her. Moira winced. She was going to break Tilda's heart when she told her she had to take them out right away.

“She can sleep in them. We'll take them out in the morning.” Bard seemed to read her mind. Moira frowned. Did he know the significance of the braids? How could he? Dwarves did not share those secrets readily. She brushed that thought away. It didn't matter. She wasn't coming back here and she would never see any of them again. Her heart tightened a little at that thought as she looked at Tilda's joyful smile.

 _Don't do this._ Moira told herself. _Don't get too attached. She's not your daughter._ Another voice, the vicious one that taunted her frequently, had to respond: _You're never going to see your children again. That was another lifetime. Several lifetimes._

“Stew's done!” Sigrid was as observant as her father. Too smart, this family. Sigrid brought the pot to the table, carrying it carefully with two large, quilted oven mitts on her hands, and set it down in the center of the table. Bain started to hand out bowls and spoons, smiling too-brightly at Moira when he got to her. Bard had definitely enlisted them in his plot. And it was working. Moira was starting to feel guilty. Which was stupid. She didn't _owe_ them her presence.

The rest of the meal was spent in pleasant conversation, mostly about the work restoring Dale and Erebor. Moira correctly identified the meat in the stew as rabbit, and Tilda proudly told her that she had begun raising them in their little backyard. They had never had a backyard in Laketown, of course. No one did. Sigurd and Tilda were going to start a garden when the spring came, and they were working on tilling the ground and building raised beds in preparation.

When the meal was finished, Sigrid cleared the table and Bain and Tilda filed out and went to their respective rooms for the night, with not a word of complaint. Moira frowned. That was far, far too easy. There was definitely a conspiracy afoot.

“Where are your children?” Bard asked her quietly. Moira's head shot up, her jaw dropped.

“I saw how you were with Tilda. You've have experience with children.” Dammit, dammit, dammit. He was too smart, just like Fili in that way. But Fili had no children; he would not have recognized those signs.

“Why does that mean I had children of my own?” Moira answered carefully. “I could have had nieces or nephews, or worked with children.”

Bard laughed. “You travel and live with Dwarves, always carry a sword and two daggers - at least three weapons- , fought Orcs and a Dragon, and never talk about your past or where you come from. I don't think you worked with children before.”

Damn, he was good. “You're right.”

“So.... Where are they? Or was it just one?”

“Gone.” She purposely ignored the question about how many children she had. She had been 27 when this all started, and in this world that was plenty old enough to have a bevy of children. Women married young here.

His eyes filled with compassion. “I'm sorry.”

"It doesn't matter.”

He looked shocked at that. “Of course it does!”

“That's ... not what I meant.” How could she shut this conversation down without being cruel? “I just meant ... what's done is done. Nothing will change it, so there's no use thinking about it.”

Bard looked troubled at her response. He took her hands in his, for the second time that day. Her breath hitched a little. “I miss my dear wife every day, but I would never want to to forget her. And, Valar forbid, if anything happened to one of my children, I would not want to pretend they had not existed. No matter how much it hurt to remember. They are part of me,” His voice softened even more. “As yours are a part of you. Even if they are gone. They are part of the puzzle that you are made up of.”

Oh, so he thought of her as a puzzle. And he thought that he had just discovered a new piece. He thought he was beginning to understand her. _If only he knew._

“I know what you think you're doing. I know you mean well. But please, I don't like to think about it.”

Something flashed in his eyes, she wasn't sure what. He nodded and let her hands go. “You'll have to face it one day.”

“Bard -” She started.

“You should rest.” He interrupted her. “You want to get going early in the morning, yes?”

She nodded mutely, confused at his abrupt end to the conversation when he had seemed so intent on convincing her to stay. Nevertheless, she was thankful for an end to the questions. He meant well, but to her it felt like an inquisition. And tomorrow was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Shattered, by Trading Yesterday.


	5. Remembrance, part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally see some interaction between Moira and Fili while they were on the quest, and learn a little about her past.

_In the beginning of the quest, just outside the Shire …._

It had been a long day, and now the Company was relieved to have found an appropriate place to camp for the night. Everyone was bustling, doing their respective jobs. Moira and Bilbo had gathered the firewood, and now that the fire was crackling merrily, Bombur began cooking their evening meal. Many of the Dwarves were setting up their bedrolls for the night. Moira was used to sleeping on the hard ground, but she still disliked being cold and usually slept as close to the fire as she could without being burned. Bilbo placed his bedroll next to hers. The hobbit had almost attached himself to her side and followed her around quite a bit, perhaps still a little nervous around the Dwarves, despite his eagerness for an adventure. He had, of course, found the reality quite different than the stories in his books or his imagination. Moira had quickly grown quite fond of the little hobbit. He was brave, in his own way, and had a gentle sweetness to him that was endearing. 

Kili and Fili had set themselves up next to a sheer rock wall. It was sheltered from the wind and easy to defend if they were attacked. Moira easily recognized the thought process behind their choice. Fili was sitting up against the rock wall, smoking his pipe, while his dark-haired little brother was sharpening a dagger. Not for the first time, Moira found herself watching the blond, older prince.

A loud, eerie shrieking was heard in the distance. Bilbo's head shot up, eyes wide, alarm clear on his fair features.

“What was that?” He directed his question to Moira, but it was Kili who answered. “Orcs.”

“Orcs?” It was a squeak as much as a question.  


Thorin, who had been resting in a sitting position nearby, started awake at the word, looking around. Fili's blue eyes were sparkling with mischief as he played along with his brother's ruse. 

“Throat-cutters. They'll be dozens out here. The lowlands are crawling with them.”

“They strike in the wee small hours of the night, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams.... Just lots of blood.” Kili wore a mock-haunted look on his face, and then looked to his brother, before they both began to chuckle at the terror on the poor hobbit's face.

Moira frowned. “That's not funny.” She couldn't stop herself. “Have either of you kids ever BEEN in a night raid?” Kili looked surprised at her challenge, but Fili was watching her with interest in his bright blue eyes. She continued. “I doubt it, if you can make jokes like that.”

“She's right.” Thorin's voice rang out, gravelly and dark with controlled anger. “A night raid by orcs is no laughing matter.”

Kili looked down, shame plain on his young, unbearded face at being scolded by the uncle he admired so much. “We didn't mean anything by it,” he muttered in his defense.

“No, you didn't.” Thorin's hard blue eyes took in his nephews with disdain in that moment, instead of the usual affection that lighted there when his gaze fell on his sistersons. He had the look of a man haunted, and Moira wondered briefly if her own face carried the same expression.

“You know nothing of the world.” He growled dismissively, and strode past the circle of light cast by the campfire and walked to the edge of the cliff. There he stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the night. Moira knew his thoughts were not on the landscape before him. She would not have needed to have seen the movie to know. It was evident in this stiff posture and pointed silence, which she was sure cut his nephews deeper than his sharp words had.

Balin, the oldest member of the group, picked himself up and made his way slowly to the two Heirs of Durin.

“Don't mind him, lads. Thorin has more reason than most to hate Orcs.” As Balin launched into the familiar (to her) story, Moira watched Fili's face. He was listening in rapt attention, like his brother, but his face betrayed less emotion than Kili's. The younger prince had no guile whatsoever. Fili, however ... Fili controlled himself more, except when goaded on by his baby brother. But often his eyes betrayed him when his face did not. He had placed his pipe to the side as he listened to Balin's tale of the battle for Moria, his eyes shining with awe and admiration for his uncle. He turned his head away from Balin to watch his uncle. Thorin's back was still turned on the Company. But Moira knew he could hear Balin's tale. She could see it in the minute twitching of his sword hand, still clasped with the other behind his back, as Balin told how Thorin had taken up the oaken branch to use as a shield in his one-on-one combat with Azog the Defiler.

“And I thought to myself,” Balin continued, “There is one I could follow. There is one I could call king.” All the Dwarves were watching Thorin now, reverence in their eyes and faces. As Thorin turned around slowly to face them, all the Dwarves stood, staring at the king-in-exile in something akin to awe. Thorin nodded regally at them, acknowledging their respect and fealty. Only Moira and Bilbo remained seated, quietly sitting apart out of respect for the Dwarves' moment.

“And, what happened to the pale Orc?” asked Bilbo.

Thorin scowled as he swept through the camp, his fur-lined cloak flapping behind him.“Slunk back into the hole he came from. That filth died of his wounds a long time ago.”

Moira frowned. Even if she hadn't known the story, she knew from bitter experience that no one was dead unless you saw the body yourself. And sometimes not even then. She could tell from the looks that Balin and Gandalf exchanged that they shared her doubts.

“Moira, you have first watch, if you think you can handle it.” Thorin barked the order from across the camp as he laid out his bedroll. Moira's frown deepened. He still doubted her. Well, he hadn't seen her fight yet.

“Yes, sir.” She responded crisply.

Thorin frowned and looked at her for a moment, as if trying to evaluate if she was mocking him or not. He seemed satisfied with whatever he decided, because he grunted and laid down with his back to the group. Moira sighed. She was bone-tired. It was going to be a long three hours. 

~000~

When all the Dwarves had fallen asleep, Moira pulled out the 24 flat wooden discs she had cut from the live branch of a nut-bearing tree while she and Bilbo had been gathering firewood earlier. She took a small knife meant for wood-carving instead of fighting from her pack. Sometime in the last couple of days, she had lost her rune set. She still felt uncomfortable when she wasn't carrying one. It was a habit she had picked up while living with the Vikings in Norway. She didn't know if she had traveled to the past of her own world, or a parallel world with a similar history. She suspected the latter, since at no other time had she returned to a universe she had previously lived in. She only knew she had been happy there.

She had lived with the Vikings for several years before the Queen of Kattegatt had officially adopted her. She had trained with the men, gone south to England to raid some years, and had earned a reputation as a formidable shieldmaiden. After being adopted by the Queen, she was not only officially a Viking, but royalty, and quite the eligible maiden. She had eventually married and borne two Viking sons and a daughter. Although only one son survived to adulthood. She had lived to see her surviving children grow up, marry and have children of their own. One of her granddaughters had been pregnant with her first great-grandchild when she had finally kicked the bucket and succumbed to old age. It was her only death caused by the natural process of aging. All the others had been due to violence, and a couple of times, sickness. She had hoped that her life there would earn a release from her curse, that maybe the point of all this craziness was to learn to survive until she lived a full life and died a natural death.

Unfortunately for her, it wasn't. There was no point to her curse, it seemed. When she awoke, she was not only alive, she was young again. For some reason, when she passed through the walls that separated realities, her body invariably went back to the condition it was in the day she died, the first time, in her own world. Like a rubber band snapping back into position after being pulled too far. It was actually quite annoying. When she awoke somewhere else she remembered how to fight, remembered the techniques and movements, but her body no longer responded like she was used to. She would no longer be muscled from years of fighting and practice. She had not been weak before, but she certainly was never close to the shape she was in now. When she awoke in a new world, she always had the body of a 27-year-old student with a sedentary job in a modern world. Each time she had to immediately retrain herself, recondition her body to act the way she remembered it doing so. And it took years.

She was glad she had been in Middle-Earth long enough to not only recondition herself, but to earn a reputation as a Ranger of the North before she had ran into Gandalf in Bree. The wizard always looked at her with such curiosity that she couldn't help but wonder how much he knew about her, if he knew where she was from and what was happening to her. She never asked. She didn't think she could bear it if he tried to break the curse for her, and failed. Other wizards in several universes had tried, some of them very powerful. All of them had failed. Obviously.

Moira returned her attention to the work before her. She didn't use her Viking name anymore (it hurt too much), and the tattoos she had earned in that life were, of course, gone, as were the scars. But she had lived as a Viking longer than she had lived any other life, twice as long as she had lived the modern life she was born into. She still consulted the runes in times of trouble, and felt naked and alone without them. She still found herself swearing in Old Norse, exclaiming “Odin's beard!” when surprised or in pain. She still thought of herself as Viking, even after all these years. Some mornings when she awoke, she wasn't sure if she was Moira, the mysterious Ranger of Northern Middle-Earth, or Brenna Aslaugdottir, wife of Sven, mother of Thora and Eirik, adopted older sister and close friend of Ivar the Boneless. When she remembered, it hurt so much, that she always arose in a foul mood that day, hoping to find some Orcs or Goblins to vent her rage on. Vikings defined themselves by their connections to community and kin, and she had neither anymore.

Moira heard someone stirring behind her, and she turned slightly to see who had awoken. It was Fili. She hoped she hadn't been too noisy. Instead Fili walked outside of camp. He needed to relieve himself, then. She nodded silently at him when he glanced in her direction, before returning to her work. A few minutes later, she heard Fili emerge from the bushes and walk in her direction. He was walking relatively quietly, for a Dwarf, but his heavy boots still made a recognizable _clomp clomp clomp_ beside her.

“May I join you for a moment?” He asked quietly, so as not to awaken the others.

She shrugged. “It's a free country.” Over a century now, and she still found herself using a modern turn of phrase, now and again.

Fili sat cross-legged beside her. “I want to apologize for earlier. I didn't mean to upset you. My brother didn't, either.”

“It's fine. I'm sorry if I overreacted. I know you guys are just kids.”

“I'm older than you.” He stated it matter-of-factly, like there could be no argument.

“Not in experience, apparently.” She retorted, but smiled warmly to let him know she wasn't bitter about it. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Fili watching her hands move as she carved.

“What are you making?” He finally asked.

“A rune set. I lost my old one a few days ago. It's not like we're going to double back for it.” She didn't look up from her carving when she answered him. 

He picked up one of the finished runes from the pile to her right, studying it. 

“These look almost Dwarven!” he said in surprise.

Moira stopped, wondering what to say, how to explain their similarity without betraying her secret. She looked into Fili's inquisitive blue eyes, and she decided on the truth.

“They're Nordic. They're called the Elder Futhark, and they were given to the Viking people by the God Odin, after He hung Himself from the World Tree for nine days and nine nights to learn their secrets. With them, if you're wise enough to cast and read them, you can sometimes get a glimpse of the future.” She shrugged. “I figure we could use all the help we can get on this quest.”

Fili cocked his head to the side slightly. Moira could practically see the cogs whirring in his mind as he thought. “That's the name of your people?” He finally asked quietly. “Viking?”

Moira shook her head. “No. Not exactly. But I did live among them, for many years. I was never close to my mother's God, or really understood her ways. But with the Vikings ... “ She shrugged. “I don't know. I found meaning in their rituals, their stories, their way of life.”

Fili nodded, encouraging her to go on. Moira knew she shouldn't, but for some reason, she did. “I was lost in a winter storm when I stumbled onto their city.” _I had just died in another universe, and woke up to the worst weather possible, and I wasn't dressed for it._ “Their Queen was generous and took me into her longhouse. Norway is a harsh land in winter, and it came early that year. I would have died without their hospitality. The ice and the snow continued, and made travel impossible. I had to stay all winter. But when spring came, I didn't want to leave.”

She sat down her carving now and turned, so she could look into his eyes as she told him more of the story she shouldn't be telling. But it felt so good not to hold it all inside anymore. And something about Fili's earnest interest made her want to share.

“I was with them for several years. I trained as a shieldmaiden, and a few times when the men and other shieldmaidens went south to gather supplies -” to raid, really, but she wasn't going to tell him that. “- or to fight their battles, I went with them. I participated in their rituals and came to love their Gods. I thought I had found a home.” She looked down at her feet to say the next part. “I had a Viking son.”

She looked back up shyly, surprised at her own girlishness, to see Fili's eyes had widened slightly in surprise. He had not been expecting that piece of information.

“Where is he now?” Fili asked. _And why aren't you with him?_ He didn't voice the second question, but Moira heard it anyway, knew that was what he was really thinking.

“He's dead.” Her voiced cracked a little. “He wasn't even two years old when he died.”

“Oh.” Fili chewed this information over, his face soft and filled with compassion. “I'm so sorry. Losing a child ... I can't even imagine that pain. Dwarven women are very rare, and so children are too. They are our greatest treasure.” Fili glanced at the form of his sleeping brother then, and Moira knew that with their father gone, Fili had tried to play the role himself for his younger sibling.

Moira shifted, a bit uncomfortably. She really shouldn't be letting herself get so close to Fili, especially because she knew what would happen at the Battle of Five Armies. She shouldn't have told him that. He would have more questions now.

She shrugged. “That was a hard winter. Many died, and not only children and elders. There was a sickness that spread through Kattegatt, taking many healthy warriors, too.”

“What was his name?” His voice was still unbearably soft, so quiet that she almost didn't hear it.

“Sven. After his father.”

“And ... what of his father?” Ah. Now Moira understood this line of questioning. She thought she had seen Fili watching her, but had chalked it up to wishful thinking and tried to ignore it. _Looks like I was wrong._ She mused.

She looked away, staring into the night. Everything she had said up until now was true. Now she would have to mix truth with lies. She couldn't very well say “We had two other children and I lived there for half a century before I died, woke up somewhere else, and was young again.” No, that would not do. This is why she usually didn't talk about her past and tried not to forge connections with others. _Although I kind of suck at that. This is a lonely life to lead and I always end up in relationships, or having friendships, I shouldn't._

“Sven was away when our son died. He was hunting for nearly a week. Game had been scarce. The fever burned through our child that quickly. When he left, little Sven was alive and healthy. When he came back, he was already buried in the frozen ground.” She chewed her bottom lip, willing herself not to tear up at memory. Now the lies. “I think he blamed me. Nothing was the same after that. I had already had a miscarriage-” _True._ “And when we lost our first child, he couldn't look at me anymore. He left me.” _Not true._ “When spring came, I left Kattegatt for good. Everything there reminded me of the child I had lost, and I couldn't bear to see my former husband every day.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “It was stupid to think that I had found a home. That just doesn't seem to be the destiny the Gods have laid out for me.”

She was still looking away into the blackness when Moira felt Fili's hands gently take hers. She looked back at him in surprise, and almost squeaked when she found his face only inches from hers. Luckily, she was able to hold it in. Her breath hitched. Their noses were almost touching. When he spoke she found herself watching his lips move, the blond mustache braids jingling slightly, the dying firelight glinting off the beads at the end of them. “There's nothing wrong with hoping to find a permanent home. That's what this quest is about, after all.”

She looked down at his large hands holding her small ones, his thick digits caressing her skin, making her shiver noticeably. All she could think about was how warm his skin felt on hers. “Your hands are so hot!” she blurted out.

Fili chuckled lowly. “Dwarves have a higher body temperature than most humans. We burn quite hot.” His voice dropped even lower and became husky on the second sentence, and Moira felt her body respond to the promise hidden in his words. She hadn't failed to notice that he was gorgeous, and worse, he seemed to know it. His face was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her lips. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss those full lips and feel his short beard scratch her face, for those braids framing his mouth to tickle her skin as he kissed her neck, those unbearably hot hands wandering her body, slipping under her tunic to … _No. Stop it._ She admonished herself before her thoughts got too far into the fantasy. This was too dangerous a game now.

It took all of her willpower to say “You should probably get some sleep. You have last watch.” Fili nodded, a little disappointment evident in his eyes. He gave her hands a gentle squeeze before obediently letting go. Moira couldn't help her own disappointment at the loss of his touch, watching him getting up and moving to his bedroll on the other side of the fire.

Moira let out a breath in a whoosh, which she hadn't realized she had been holding. Yup, she definitely should not have told him so much. Yet, strangely, she didn't seem to care. When it was time, she woke Bofur for the middle watch. But it was a long time before she could fall asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this chapter we got to see a lot more of Fili and Moira interacting on the quest, and learn some specific information about Moira's past! Yay! But this flashback chapter ended up really long, so I decided to make the flashback 2 chapters instead of one, so I could just get this out. So the next chapter will also be when they are still on the quest for Erebor …  
> In case you didn't know, “Aslaugdottir” means “Aslaug's Daughter”, like “Erikson” means “Erik's Son”.  
> Brenna is an Old Norse name for girls that means “Burning” or “Torch”.


	6. Remembrance, part II

_In the beginning of the quest, the next day …._

 

Moira slept fitfully, which was unfortunately normal for her. When she awoke, it was still quite early. The Company often awoke before dawn, but there was no sign of rosy light on the horizon yet. Bilbo tossed and turned next to her, and Moira frowned. She hoped that Kili and Fili's little “joke” hadn't caused the Hobbit to suffer from nightmares. But just as she was about to do something about it, Bilbo stopped and snuggled deeper into his bedroll. Maybe he just wasn't used to sleeping on the ground.

She lay there for a few moments, listening to Bilbo's quiet breathing and the (rather loud) snoring of some of the Dwarves. She ruminated on the events of the night before and realized that she would need to speak with Fili before any of the others awoke. She sighed.

“Good morning.” Fili's voice. Damn, he had good hearing. She hadn't even moved yet. She sat up and pushed the thick woolen blanket off of her, yawning and stretching.

“Good morning.” She responded. She noticed the way that Fili's eyes lingered on her form as she arched her back, stretched her arms above her head, and cracked her neck. She couldn't help but smirk a little as she reached for her boots. (The Dwarves may sleep with their boots on, but she didn't. Not unless the temperature was near-freezing, anyway.)

After she had returned from the bushes, she approached Fili. The Prince of Durin was perched on a large rock near the cliff, where he could see the entire camp.

“Can we talk for a moment?” she addressed him quietly.

“Of course.” The dagger he had been absentmindedly twirling between his fingers disappeared into his thick, belted overcoat.

Dammit, this was awkward. “Look, about what I told you last night,” She paused, gathering her thoughts. Fili watched her expectantly. She was quite sure he knew what she was going to say, or at least had some idea, but he was apparently going to make her work for it.

“I know you and your brother are close,” She started again. “And I honestly don't care if you tell him about the runes I was making, or about the Vikings, or whatever.” She cleared her throat. It had been a while since she'd been in this position. “But I would really appreciate it you kept what I told you about my son, and my husband,” she stopped and corrected herself - “ex-husband, to yourself. It's very personal and not the kind of thing I want to talk to the rest of the Company about.”

Fili nodded, his face serious. “You have my solemn vow, on my honor as a descendant of Durin the Deathless, that I will not discuss the details of your past with anyone, unless you give me permission to do so.” He seemed almost pleased, as if he was happy to know a part of her that the rest of the Company did not. Dwarves were a secretive race, she knew, and she somehow also knew that Dwarves took an oath as seriously as anything Viking.

“Thank you.” She gazed into his serious blue eyes, and realized that Fili would keep his word and guard her secret like it was his own. And it scared her to realize that they were already becoming closer. She could see where they were heading, could see the heartache it would eventually bring her, knew she should put a stop to it. But she also somehow knew she wouldn't. She had done this before, fought her feelings, and she usually failed.

Someone started to stir behind them, and Fili and Moira broke apart, to begin the day's activities. 

~000~

Fili kept his word, not telling anyone about her deceased son or her supposedly failed marriage, but he had told his brother about the runes she saw her making, and her explanation of living with the Vikings for several years. Which led to Kili excitedly peppering her with questions about how they could be so similar, and to Moira regaling the Company with Viking tales of the deeds of the Gods. It was a good way to pass the time as they rode their ponies through the countryside uneventfully, and most of the Dwarves listened intently. Kili, of course, wanted to hear mostly the myths about battles and the war between the Aesir and the Vanir, or the Gods of Asgard and the Jotunn, the Ice Giants. Bilbo, Balin, and Ori were the most likely to ask her questions about the stories, to clarify some obscure mythological detail. Thorin seemed to the only one who was completely uninterested in her tales, riding his pony at the head of the train, interested only in the next path they should take to get to where they were going. Erebor was all he could think of.

“Maybe Odin is the Viking name for Mahal.” Ori, who was riding ahead of her, said thoughtfully. “That would explain why Khuzdul and your Futhark are so similar. But you said that Odin breathed the breath of life into the first Vikings, and we didn't know Mahal had any other creations, other than the Dwarves ….”

Moira shrugged. It was as good an explanation as any. If they wanted to believe that Odin and the Valar who had created them was the same, it might get them off her back. “Maybe. Dwarven culture does sound similar to Viking, from what little I know of you guys. Even some of the patterns sewn on your coats are almost exactly like Norse styles.”

“Really?” Fili and Kili, who were riding side by side behind her, exclaimed in unison. She couldn't hold back a giggle, it was cute when they talked at the same time.

“Then again, maybe there was contact between your people and theirs sometime in the past. Vikings are very matter-of-fact about the existence of Dwarves, although there are none in Norway and no living Viking I know of has ever met one. The Saxons don't believe you guys exist -” Her face darkened a little at mention of the Saxons, but she pushed that thought aside. “But the Vikings do, and tell stories about Dwarves, just like they do the Gods, or the Elves. In fact, one of the most beloved Viking Goddesses was supposedly fathered by a Dwarf with a Valkyrie, one of Odin's female warriors, who claim the spirits of the honorable dead when they fall in battle.”

Bilbo, who was riding beside her, looked up in interest. “Who is She?” he asked.

Moira smiled. “Idunna, the Goddess of apple trees and orchards. She grows the golden apples that keep the Gods young.”

Bilbo looked surprised. “The Gods age?” There was some murmuring from the listening Dwarves around her. Clearly this was a foreign concept to them.

Moira nodded. “Without Idunna's apples They do. Everything turns to decay and entropy eventually, Bilbo, even the Gods. One day, They'll even die, in the final battle of Ragnarok. Most of the created worlds will be destroyed, burned by the Fire Giants and frozen by the Ice Giants, just as the union of fire and ice in the Void first created the world. But Odin fights anyway, knowing that He is doomed, that one day most of Them will not survive. They do it because it is the right thing to do.” Moira smiled. The story of Ragnarok gave her a strange comfort, these days. She, too, was doomed, and continued to fight anyway. “But a few of The Gods will survive. And one pair of humans will hide in the roots of the World Tree, and after the apocalypse, they'll rebuild. Life finds a way, Bilbo. But creation is cyclic, and not even the Gods can change that. Everything dies, but life only comes from death. We eat dead animals after all, and even herbivores live off the death of plants, and plants grow from decomposing bodies. Blood feeds life. Life is an eternal cycle of creation, destruction, and creation again.”

Bilbo looked thoughtful. “How do you know the future? How do the Gods know what is to come?”

“Odin values wisdom above all else. The Allfather is frequently absent from Asgard, wandering the worlds in search of very scrap of wisdom he can find, learning all forms of magic. He acknowledges when someone knows something He doesn't and will sit at their feet to learn it, because a great, unquenchable hunger drives Him. After the war between the Aesir and the Vanir, when hostages were sent to Asgard to ensure the peace, He taught the Vanir-Goddess Freyja galdr magic in exchange for Her teaching Him seidhr magic. He hung on the World Tree for nine days to learn the runes, He exchanged His right eye for a drink from the Well of Mimir and a glimpse of the future, He stole the Mead of Poetry from the Giants. He knows many kinds of magic and prophecy, and has many names in many lands, and often takes the form of a wandering, one-eyed wizard … ” Moira continued her stories for a while longer, and when she turned a couple of times, she saw that although he didn't say anything, Fili's blue eyes were shining with interest as he listened to her tales intently.

The Company stopped for a quick lunch of some kind of meat jerky and hard, crusty bread with honey (butter spoils, but honey doesn't, making it good for travel), before continuing on as before. It wasn't long after they started again before the sound of Thor's hammer rang through the skies and the downpour of rain began. Hours later it was still raining steadily. Every member of the Company was miserable, but Bilbo looked the most pathetic of all. His riot of dark golden curls were plastered to his head, his teeth were chattering and he was shivering violently. He was hunched over in the saddle of the pony he rode, as if trying to fold himself into the smallest ball of Hobbit possible.

Moira dug her heels into the side of her horse, spurring the stallion to draw up beside Bilbo. Bilbo looked at her, misery evident on his face, but he didn't say anything to her. The Hobbit was the worst dressed out of all of them for weather like this. His dark red overcoat was soaked, the thin velvety material making no defense from the elements whatsoever. Moira unbuckled her heavy cloak, which was still somewhat dry on the inside, and draped it over the halfling's shoulders, pulling the hood up over his tiny head.

“Th-thank you.” Bilbo muttered behind chattering teeth. Then he frowned as a thought occurred to him. “Wh-wh-what about you?”

Moira shrugged. “I've been wet before. If it gets too bad, we can just switch off, for now. If we pass a city, we'll try to get you your own cloak, okay?”

Bilbo nodded, accepting her solution. “Thank you. You're very generous.”

She squeezed Bilbo's shoulder in encouragement, before turning back to face the road ahead. “It's nothing.” In truth, she hated being chilled to the bone, which would surely happen in this deluge. But she was used to dealing with many kinds of discomfort, and the Hobbit wasn't.

 

~000~

 

Fili pulled her aside a few days later, beckoning her into the woods under the pretense of gathering firewood. Bilbo usually gathered firewood with her, but the Hobbit had noticed the way that Fili and Moira both looked at the other, when they thought no one was watching. So instead he stayed in the camp and went to help Bombur begin chopping the vegetables for tonight's stew, smiling to himself.

Fili led her away from camp, and as soon as they were behind a strand of trees, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him. _Okay, I guess we aren't going for firewood_ , Moira thought curiously. _Is he going to make a move on me?_ That thought made butterflies start flapping madly in her stomach, a girlish reaction she hadn't had in a _long_ time. It was nice to feel something other than fear and the desperate urge to survive with a minimum of pain.

When they had finally come to a clearing sufficiently far from camp that the others wouldn't hear them, Fili turned to face her. The top of his head came up to her chin, when they were standing on even ground. “I have something for you.” He seemed … nervous almost. “Hold out your hand.”

Moira was _very_ curious now, but cautious. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“Just... please. Trust me.” He was looking up at her, a pleading look in his startling blue eyes. 

“Please give me your hand.” And Moira could not help but nod and do as he asked.

He gently took her hand, caressing her palm for a split second before he placed something round and cool in it. Moira looked at it curiously. It was a beautiful stone, a dark brown color, worn smooth, most likely by water. She assumed it came from a river-bed – _the river we passed yesterday?_ On its surface was a single word, carefully and neatly carved in Dwarven runes.

She squinted. The Dwarven runes were similar enough to the Nordic ones she had learned while living as a Viking that she could almost read …

“Is that ...” She couldn't finish the question.

“Your son's name.” Fili looked up at her, his face open and hopeful. “It's a remembrance stone. When a Dwarf loses someone dear to them, they make one of these. So they can carry it with them always, and in that way keep a piece of their loved one alive.”

Moira closed her fingers around the cool dark stone, touched beyond words. Had he been looking for an appropriate stone to use since she had told him her story? When had he had the time to make this? She looked down into his hopeful face and smiled softly.

“It's beautiful. I don't know what to say. Thank you, so much.”

He nodded, a smile twitching at the corner of his full lips, his incredibly bright eyes never leaving hers. On a sudden whim, Moira reached up with her other hand and cautiously touched one of the beads at the end of a thick, slightly messy braid on the left side of his face. She heard Fili suck in a breath in surprise, but he didn't push her away. She watched the way the bead caught the light of the setting sun, and twirled it between her fingers in fascination. She'd been thinking about doing this since that first night in Bag End, damn her hormones. Her fingers stroked the braid and followed it up to its origin at his temple. Fili stood stock-still, watching her, not saying a word. Her fingers trailed slowly down his face, mapping it out and savoring the prickle of his beard on her sensitive fingertips.

He reached up to envelop her hand in his, turning his head slightly to kiss her palm. He was rewarded with a gasp from Moira's dark lips, so he continued to plant gentle kisses on her hand, watching the flush creep across her face as he did so. She looked so lovely flushed like that, her lips parted slightly and begging to be kissed. He looked right into her eyes, lust starting to burn in his blue orbs, and he kissed the inside of her wrist. This time the tip of his pink tongue darted out to gently lick the spot he kissed.

Moira gasped again, and bent over slightly to meet his lips. Fili tilted his head up eagerly, to give her better access. He still held her hand, stroking softly, as she brushed her lips to his. It was the barest of feather touches, and Fili yearned to deepen it.

Suddenly Moira jerked away, panic in her eyes as she ripped her hand from his. “I'm- I'm sorry!” she stuttered before racing back to the safety of the camp, the remembrance stone still clutched in her right hand, leaving a very confused and slightly aroused Fili behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, poor Fili! This chapter was supposed to just be Moira and Fili, but some bonding with Bilbo stuck in there. Bilbo is so sweet and easy to write, it was fun. And their friendship will be important later on, so it's probably good to lay some groundwork for it.  
> I'm trying to make the Viking stories and the details of Norse life correct, as far as I can.  
> I invented the concept of the remembrance stone, but it was inspired by the rune stone that Dis gave Kili in the movie, to remember his promise to come back alive. It seems like something Dwarves would do.


	7. Leaving Dale / Goodbye My Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The brief mention of Castithans is from the Defiance TV show on SyFy. Castithan is also the language that was being spoken in the Chapter 2, “Dreams”. Liro is the name of their caste system.  
> I have about half the universes that Moira has lived in mapped out at home on a chart, and small details will be dropped here and there in the story. But this won't become a crossover unless a CHARACTER from one of those other worlds comes to Middle-Earth. Which honestly might happen at some point later. I'm considering having a villain from Moira's past be what brings her and Fili back together again. But I haven't decided yet. You'll just have to keep reading and see what happens.  
> As always, if you are enjoying this, PLEASE review. I treasure every review I've gotten and it helps give me motivation to continue if I really know that people are enjoying what I'm doing. This was such a weird idea I wasn't sure it would resonate with people, let alone get any responses. I'm glad some people seem to be enjoying it! (I've gotten a lot of reviews on ff.net, even if I haven't gotten any here yet.)

You touched my heart, you touched my soul  
You changed my life and all my goals  
Love is blind, but that I knew  
My heart was blinded by you  
I've kissed your lips, I've held your hand  
I've shared your dreams, I've shared your bed  
I know you well, I know your smell  
I've been addicted to you

Goodbye my lover  
Goodbye my friend  
You have been the one, you have the one for me  
– Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt

 

Moira was not happy. She had slept late, and Bard had let her. Worse, he had insisted on accompanying her to the horse breeder outside of the city, “to make sure that he gives you a good deal”. As if she didn't know how to examine a horse and make sure it was healthy, or how to haggle on her own! After the uncomfortable ending to last night's visit, she just wanted to get going and leave both Erebor and Dale behind. She also didn't want to be seen with Bard any more than she had to be. What if Fili started asking around Dale for her, and got the wrong idea? _It doesn't matter what he thinks happened,_ the rational part of her mind whispered. _In fact, maybe it's better. Maybe it'll help him get over you._ But somehow, the idea of Fili thinking that she had cheated on him hurt more than leaving him did.

Moira wanted Fili to understand why she was leaving. Well, part of her reasons anyway. She obviously couldn't tell him about where she was really from, or about her curse. But her other reservations about their relationship were still completely valid. If he were any other Dwarf, maybe her human heritage wouldn't matter. But he wasn't just any Dwarf. Fili was the Crown Prince of the Longbeards, the greatest and most prominent of the Seven Dwarf Clans. He had a responsibility to his ancestors to continue his line and create heirs for Erebor. The Viking part of her took reverence for, and responsibility to, ancestors very, very seriously. Moira feared her human blood would dilute the noble Line of Durin. More than that, she feared how a half-breed child would be treated, by both Dwarves and Men.

Moira had borne a half-breed child before, in another reality. She had seen first-hand how they were treated by both sides. Of course, that universe was a future Earth that was shared with several alien species, but the bitterness of the Votan War had still left many, many psychic scars. Her daughter was half-Castithan, meaning few humans would be comfortable with her. And Castithans, well, they were an arrogant, patriarchal race. Mixing with humans was not looked on well. The only reason Alak had gotten away with marrying a human girl was because his parents were so powerful in the community. Moira's daughter did not have the benefit of a great name. Her father's liro was almost as low as you could get. The dark brown hair she inherited from Moira would mark her as half-human among the white-haired Castithan; her orange-gold eyes and chalk-white skin, so like her father's, would betray her Casti heritage among humans. Her poor Avila had a hard road ahead of her. Add to that, now there would be no mother to love her and help her deal with the prejudice. Moira would be damned if she'd make that mistake again. But she couldn't explain it to Fili.

Now, here in Middle-Earth, whatever her letter to Fili said would also have to stand up against the rumors that were sure to be swirling around Dale and Erebor. Now, her word (her written word) was going to contradict what the people in the town would say. People would always talk, especially about important people. Like it or not, she was involved with the Heir Apparent of the greatest of the Dwarf Kingdoms, and that made her important enough to gossip about. Especially because of the mixed-species nature of their relationship. Add to that the new prominence that Bard had gained in Dale's society, and that she would not be here to defend herself … this was a recipe for disaster. She had never meant to embroil Fili in such a political mess.

So, here she was, walking side by side with Bard along a dusty road a few miles outside of Dale. If she had woke up at the time she had intended to, there would have been almost nobody on the road, save for a few farmers bringing the last of the year's harvest to the city to sell. Now, hours later, the road was bustling with people, Men and Dwarves alike. Even a few Elves. She was furious. This was all Bard's fault.

The tall, dark-haired Man could sense her anger simmering just below the surface. You'd have to be an idiot not to. As a result, there was an uncomfortable, sullen silence between them as they walked. When they had set out, Bard had offered to carry her pack for her until they got there, which she would have refused even if she wasn't worried about how that would look. Bard was a gentleman, and treated her more like a woman than a fellow warrior. It was starting to get on her already-frayed nerves.

_Odin's beard, what the **fuck** was I thinking? _ She internally berated herself. _I should have stayed the night at the inn. I shouldn't have met Bard at all. I should have left earlier yesterday._ The betrayer in her mind whispered back: _You were hoping Bard would convince you to stay. You wanted to see the girls again. You miss having a family. And if you didn't want to worry about this mess, you should have told Fili it was all a fling. That you were fucking him to relieve stress during the danger of the quest, and left Erebor right after the battle. You didn't. Now you're going to break the hearts of two good guys._ Gods, how the fuck did this happen?! It was like she had fallen into a badly-written fanfic penned by some lonely, love-struck teenage girl. Now she had two men pining after her, one she loved, one she cared for. And she was going to hurt both of them badly. 

“Gwilder's property is just a little farther afield,” Bard finally broke the uneasy silence between them, referring to the horse breeder they were headed to see.

“Good.” Moira's response was a monosyllabic grunt.

Bard could contain himself no longer. “You're angry with me.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

“Do you really not know?”

“People are going to talk about me staying at your place last night. I should have just left yesterday instead of meeting with you.”

“Let them.” Bard shrugged. “You and I know nothing happened.” He paused. “And so will Fili, if that's what you're worried about.”

Moira stopped in the middle of the road and just stared. That low-born idiot! Did he not realize the implications?

Bard halted as well, frowning at her expression. “He's not dumb enough to believe you slept with me.”

Moira scoffed. “That doesn't matter. We – _I_ – just dealt the Line of Durin a bad political blow among the other Dwarf clans. Don't you understand anything about politics?”

“I prefer to stay out of such petty concerns.”

Moira threw her head back and laughed, albeit a tad humorlessly. “You don't have a choice anymore. You're the leader of Dale now, unofficially or not.”

A spark of hope came back into Bard's voice. “Perhaps you could help me in such matters.”

“Not gonna happen.” She turned and resumed her delayed journey.

They continued to walk in silence for a few more moments, before a question occurred to Bard. 

“How do you fare so well in this area? I always got the impression that you don't feel as if you belong among councils of governance and such.”

“I don't.” Moira responded. “I am quite low-born, I assure you.”

“Then how …?”

Moira shrugged. “I have a bad habit of getting myself involved in other people's wars and quests.” She realized that wouldn't really explain how she knew so much about relationship politics. She sighed and looked at Bard sidelong. “Fili isn't the first nobleman I've been involved with, although Jaime wasn't a prince. Different race or not, and they all have the same blind-spots.” She frowned, her voice becoming more bitter. “Stupid noble boys not thinking about their responsibilities, chasing the maids and such, leaving us lowborn girls to pick up the pieces.”

Bard tried to mask his surprise, but failed. Moira sped her steps up a little, so she didn't have to look at his face. She could see the smaller road diverging from the one they were on, knew that the horse breeder – and freedom – was not far away.

~000~

Moira dismounted, breathing a deep sigh of relief. Dale was half a day's ride behind her, and she finally felt comfortable enough to take a break. She had spotted a pond being fed from a little stream winding it's way through the woods a stone's throw from the road she was on. It was time for a welcome respite, for both her and the new horse. She missed her silver stallion, who had been with her through many adventures as a Ranger in the north. But he had perished on the quest, during the encounter with the trolls. Another lost friend she had led to his death. This mare was strong and even-tempered, so Moira hoped that she would prove a good steed. If it turned out she couldn't handle the dangers of the wild, well, she could always sell her to some farmer or miller or merchant in one of Middle-Earth's many villages.

She led the brown mare to a secluded corner of the pond, sheltered from prying eyes by a thick strand of conifers. This late into autumn, nearly all the deciduous trees had already dropped their leaves. It would not be long before the snows came; she hoped to be at least halfway to the Shire by then. Perhaps in the spring she'd go north and meet up with the other Rangers. There were precious little of them, and more and more Orcs and Goblins by the minute, it seemed. Their numbers made them bolder, too. Moira had the skills needed to protect the people of Middle-Earth, and she'd feel like a heel if she didn't use them. But not not yet. For now, she needed to rest. Bilbo had said she was always welcome at Bag End, and the Shire seemed like the perfect place to nurse a broken heart.

Moira had purposely told Bard that she didn't know where she was going. She had a feeling that the bowman's guilty conscience would get the better of him as soon as he was questioned by Fili. Bard was too good of a man to not hate himself for having feelings for someone else's woman. As soon as he saw the Prince Under the Mountain, he'd surely tell the heartbroken Dwarf everything he knew.

As the mare drank deeply from the pond, Moira pulled the grooming kit from the pack strapped behind the saddle. The mare sighed contently as Moira started to brush her down. Like any responsible Ranger, Moira would always care for her horse before herself. The brushing was necessary not only to cleanse the horse of sweat and grime from the day's ride, but to create a bond between steed and rider. If the horse trusted her, than she would be more likely to carry her into danger and not panic while doing so. With the kind of life Moira led, danger was sure to come up again at some point.

“I'm going to have to come up with a name for you, aren't I?” Moira was talking to herself as much as to the horse. “Any ideas?” The mare nickered in response. Moira chuckled. “I guess Nicki is as good a name as any. What do you think?” The mare tossed her head. “Nicki it is, then.” Moira hobbled the mare's – Nicki's – back legs to keep her from running off (well, they didn't know each other yet), and set her loose to graze.

Her horse cared for, Moira had one other job to do. Sitting at the edge of the lake, she looked into the water at her own reflection. Her face was paler than it used to be, the result of living under a mountain for so many months, no doubt. Only Darrows could look hale and healthy, even tanned somehow, after so long underground. It was their natural element. Her once chin-length dark hair was now past her shoulders, two thick Dwarven courtship braids framing her face. Her dark eyes were sad, she noticed.

It was time. She carefully removed the silver beads from the ends of her braids, setting them down in the grass by her feet for now. Her long, skilled fingers carefully unwove the braids, feeling like her heart was shredding as she did so. When she was done, her hair fell about her shoulders in waves. It had been a long time since her hair had gone unbraided.

She held Fili's beads in the palm of her hand. She should get rid of them, she knew. The smart thing to do would be throw them into the stream, right now. She picked one up and held in between her fingers, examining it. It was a thing of beauty, truly. Moira had no idea how Fili had managed to carve such tiny patterns into it's surface. The most prominent carving, of course, was the symbol of the line of Durin, and Fili's personal rune. But the edges of the bead had fine swirls and whorls around it when you looked closely, although they could not be seen from a distance. These beads were Fili. Gods help her, she couldn't throw them away like trash.

She pulled the necklace she always wore beneath her tunic over her head and untied the knot in the leather cord, slipping one of Fili's beads on either side of the pendant. When she had first gotten to Middle-Earth, she had carved herself a crude Thor's Hammer, the symbol of the Viking faith worn by those devoted to the Gods of Asgard, from an ash-tree. She always wore one, ever since her Viking life. After the Battle of Five Armies, Fili had forged her a newer, more intricate one out of silver. And when he officially asked to court her, he had carved the symbol of Mjolnir into the beads he wore in his own hair, since Moira had told him that Vikings had no personal runes. She did not know how to forge and carve her own courtship beads to give to him. She had been woefully inadequate as the lover of a dwarf. She gazed at the pendant now, the symbol of her faith framed by the beads of the one she loved, and felt sadness that he could never know the true depths of her. She retied the knot and slipped the leather cord back over her head, fingering the beads as she did so.

Sitting there by the small stream-fed pond surrounded by conifers, a half-day's ride from everything she loved and headed in the opposite direction, Moira finally let herself cry for real. Intense, ugly sobs racked her body as she raged at the injustice of it all to the heavens. There was no reason to hold it in anymore. No one to impress, no one to protect, no image to maintain. She was alone in the wild now, with no companion but a horse she had purchased just this morning.

She cried not just for her own broken heart, but for Fili's. In a week, he would be returning to the Mountain to find their rooms empty, except for a 'dear john' letter from the woman he treasured more than gold or mithril. She cried for Bard, who for some reason pined for her as well, but she could only ever have offered him friendship. After his wife's death he deserved to find love again, but she could not be the one give it to him. She cried for her children, both living and dead, and all equally lost to her. She cried for all the former lovers she had left behind whenever death came for her. She cried because it would happen again, and again, and again. Most of all she cried for the future with Fili that she could never allow herself to have. She wanted so desperately to be free to love him, to be his wife, to watch her belly swell with life again, to bring forth his sons, to raise them and see them prosper. But Fili was a prince, and one day would be king. She could never be the Queen of Erebor. She was too unmoored to reality to accept such responsibility. It was time she accepted the fate that the Norns had woven for her.

“Goodbye, my lover,” she whispered to no one.

I am a dreamer, and when I wake,  
You can't break my spirit  
It's my dreams you take  
And as you move on, remember me  
Remember us and all we used to be  
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile  
I've watched you sleeping for a while  
I'd be the [mother] of your child  
I'd spend a lifetime with you 

Goodbye my lover  
Goodbye my friend  
You have been the one, you have been the one for me......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I broke the fourth wall a little there, heehee. I wasn't intending for this to turn into such a triangle with Bard, it was going to just be a deep friendship with a hint of something else. Sometimes I sit down to write and the words just flow out into something else. Bard just does pining so well!


	8. Entering the Hidden Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 5,000 words, my longest chapter yet! :D

_back on the quest..._

 

Moira spent the next several weeks avoiding Fili as much as possible. She foisted the firewood gathering duties onto Bilbo, avoiding being caught in the solitude of the woods, and took over helping Bombur prepare the meals. The rotund Dwarf was all too happy for the assistance, especially when she asked him about his wife and children. His red face beamed with pride when he recounted when his youngest son had knocked his oldest on his ass during sparring. Considering he had eight children (a kingly amount for a Dwarf), and the age difference between them was great, that was quite an accomplishment. Moira spent her time working hard, but within the safe confides of the busy camp, and getting to know the other Dwarves and Bilbo. Anything to avoid her feelings and being alone with Fili. She didn't want to fall in love again, especially with a prince. But too often she found herself running her fingers over the remembrance stone in her pocket, thinking about not her son but the whisper-soft kiss that she and Fili had shared in the woods after he had given it to her. Sometimes at night the ache was too much and she did what she had to in the privacy of her bedroll to relieve the pressure.

Fili, for his part, kept his distance, but she often caught him watching her, his expression unreadable. Until one night when Fili had the watch, and Moira couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned, knowing he would be watching and aware that she was awake, until she finally gave up. She pushed back her blanket and huffed, irritated. She got up and walked, barefooted, to the nearest log and sat down heavily. She stared angrily into the low-burning fire. Damn her insomnia. Damn her heart. Damn Fili most of all. _Speak of the devil …_ The Dwarf in question moved from where he was keeping watch and sat beside her, without asking this time, she noted in annoyance.

“I've made a decision.” He declared.

“Oh?” She did her best to sound uninterested.

“I normally would never pursue a lass who had run away from me,” She looked at him in surprise as he continued. “but you _did_ make the first move. You have feelings for me,” She snorted. Fili ignored it and continued. “But you're scared to love again. I've decided that I'm not going to let you build you walls up.”

“Oh, you think you have a choice in that matter?” She worked as much disdain and haughtiness into that sentence as she could.

“I do.” His voice was full of maddening self-confidence.

“You're awfully full of yourself.”

“Well,” he drawled, and drew smoothly closer to her, his voice low and husky, “I know the effect I have on you now ...”

If Moira had anything to say, it died when her breath caught in her throat as Fili hovered closer. Sitting on the log, he was a head taller than her, since it was her long, human legs that made her taller than the Dwarf. She found herself surprised by being in the position of looking _up_ into his incredible cerulean blue eyes, which right now were darkening with desire. His wild blonde locks framed his strong jaw, the firelight reflecting on his bright lion's mane of hair. His luscious mouth was quirked into a teasing smirk as he leaned forward, the beaded mustache braids swinging. She unconsciously leaned back, intimidated by her own feelings. Which only caused him to come farther forward, placing his strong, vanbraced arms on either side of her, so that she was trapped. His torso was a hair's breath from hers, not touching, but almost. She could feel the heat radiating off of his body, even though all the layers of clothing. When she had leaned back, and he had followed, it meant that they were now in a semi-laying position, and his blonde hair fell over his shoulders and around his face and hers, enclosing them in their own world. All she could see was his face, and once again she found herself focusing on his full lips as her breaths became shorter.

“F-Fili?” She hated how unsure her voice sounded.

He chuckled at the sound, a deep rumbling in his broad chest that she felt more than heard. For a second she was sure he was going to kiss her. In that moment, she would have given anything for him to do so.

“You should get some sleep.” Her jaw dropped. He drew back, his blue eyes dancing with mischief, clearly delighted at the shock on her face. _Did he do all that just to show he has power over me?_

Damn him. Double-damn him. Blast him to Helheim. 

~000~

Fili and Moira continued to dance around each other for weeks, a feint-thrust-parry-withdraw that had her working out her frustrations by practicing her fighting forms with her sword, attacking trees and thin air when she was alone. Fili found any opportunity to touch her, brushing up against her as he walked by, caressing her fingers as he passed her the evening meal, leaning too close to her ear when he had to pass some necessary piece of information on. It was maddening. From the smirks that Kili kept throwing her way, she was certain the younger prince was in on Fili's plot as well. She was afraid the rest of the Company was similarly aware, since Fili was no longer trying to hide his affections most of the time. But if they were, they had the courtesy to pretend otherwise. Things continued in this tortuous manner until after the incident with the trolls, which had unfolded much as it had in the book and movies, even with her presence. It was then that things started to get really interesting.

~000~

_Rivendell. Oh boy. _Moira stood pressed up to the rocky wall, on the thin rocky outcropping, looking out over the beautiful scene, the Hidden Valley of Imladis unfolding before the Company. The Dwarves were crowding around her to look and appraise the scenery, wearing looks of both apprehension and even admiration (in the case of Ori and Kili, who were unlikely to have seen such sights before), as Gandalf argued with Thorin behind them. Bilbo stood silently beside the gray wizard. Moira's thoughts were racing. She had known this was coming but was not entirely sure how to deal with it. Moira was a Ranger here in Middle-Earth, and Rangers sometimes worked with Elves. But Moira did all she could to avoid their kind, fearful that the secret of her curse would be discovered. Men, with their short life spans and limited knowledge and wisdom, were much easier to fool. The Elves that Moira had fought with had been younger and most likely posed less of a threat to her secret identity ( _ha! Like you're a superhero!_ Her mind crowed), but were unnerving nonetheless. But Elrond was a different matter. He was of the wise Noldor Elves, more than three thousand years old, had fought in the War of the Ring, and also carried one of the Elven rings of power. On top of all that, his twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, had once traveled north to help a brigade of Rangers deal with a particularly numerous Orc infestation. Although she had been a part of that ragtag team of Rangers, she had hardly interacted with them at that that time. But if they were in Rivendell, and they recognized her, then when they got there she would surely be invited to dine at the same table as Gandalf, Elrond, Thorin and Bilbo, maybe even to be there when Elrond read the moon-runes. She didn't want the wise Elf's attention on her at all.__

____

The small hairs on the back of her neck raising alerted her to Fili's presence before his voice in her ear did. “It's beautiful, isn't it?” His voice low enough that the other Dwarves (most likely) would not hear. She couldn't control her shiver at the feel of his breath on her ear, and she knew he was grinning. “If Gandalf led us here to read Uncle's map, than surely we'll have some time to … get to know each other better.” She bit her lip. The heat on her cheeks told her see was blushing, and she hoped no one else from the Company would glance their way. He was persistent, she had to give him that. _On the other hand,_ she mused on her Elf situation, _If I end up spending all my time with Gandalf and Elrond then I'll get away from Fili's attentions. And I won't be able to give into temptation._

~000~

 

As the Dwarves were milling about the courtyard, Moira looked around Rivendell discretely. It really was beautiful. Bilbo made no disguise of his wonder for the place, but Moira did not want to appear overly awed by Elven craftsmanship. She had pride and a reputation to maintain.

The Elf she remembered from the films as Elrond's steward – _What was his name? Linden? Lindel?_ \- descended the stairs gracefully and called Gandalf by his Elvish name, Mithrandir.

Gandalf hailed him. “Ah, Lindir.” That was it. Lindir said something to him in Elvish.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond.”

“My Lord Elrond is not here.”

“Not here?” The wizard's brow furrowed. “Where is he?”

Just then, a signal trumpet sounded. Moira turned towards what she knew she would see, just as the Elves on horseback came thundering over the bridge at incredible speed. Thorin yelled for the Dwarves to close ranks, first in Khuzdul and then in Westron. Bilbo's eyes were wide, as the Elves were barreling straight towards him. Bofur grabbed Bilbo and shoved the shocked Hobbit into the circle of Dwarves, banishing his mattock, at the same time that Fili shoved her into the same protective position before pulling out his twin swords. Moira knew there was not a real threat, so she didn't pull out her own weapons. But she did allow the Dwarves to close ranks in tight formation around her and Bilbo, in deference to their feelings. _Annoying, really, after the trolls and the Orc scouts they know I can fight now,_ she thought. She didn't know if it was their distrust of Elves or the Dwarvish instinct to protect women and the weak that put her and Bilbo in the middle of the circle, but there it was.

The Elves urged their horses to race in a circle around the Dwarves, surrounding them, glaring down at the group with inscrutable and haughty glances. Elrond himself was at the head of the troop, and of course, he looked splendid in his purple and silver Elvish armor, finely wrought in the shape of leaves. He spoke to Gandalf in the Elvish tongue, dismounting.

Moira remembered this part. However, she hadn't been _involved_ in it. Living through a situation is quite different than reading about it or even seeing it played out on a movie screen. _A lesson I've learned too many times …_ She had liked Elrond in the Lord of the Rings movies, but this? This was … was just rude! Circling the Dwarves on horseback in such a threatening manner was antagonizing, and the Elves did it for no reason whatsoever! And now, Elrond spoke to Gandalf in a language he KNEW they didn't understand! The anger she felt was really directed at the Orcs and Wargs that had nearly run them down, she knew, and whom she now had no power or ability to punish. Her body was a bundle of raw nerves from danger, adrenaline, exertion, and sexual frustration from Fili's constant teasing, and now Elrond's rudeness finally pushed her over the edge. She was so angry, she did the exact thing that she had promised herself she wouldn't. She got Elrond's attention.

“Excuse me!” She bellowed, quite loud, cutting off the conversation between the wizard and the Elf Lord. The Dwarves parted, some of them edging away from her for drawing the eyes of the Elves so close. Fili, she noticed, was the only one who actually edged a little closer. She ignored them and crossed her arms. “Don't you think you're being a little rude?”

Some of the Elves' jaws dropped, but not Elrond's, she noted. There was a spark of interest in his pale blue eyes. _Opps. Too late now._ Keeping her arms crossed and her voice stern, she tapped her foot and started to explain slowly, like one would to a small child, “There are fifteen people here who don't speak your language, and what do you do? Go to the only one who _does_ understand your words and talk to him, _purposely_ shutting everyone else out of the conversation. I don't know how it is among the Elves,” she sniffed, “but where I'm from, that is considered rude.”

There were murmurs of admiration from some of the Dwarves, shocked gasps from some of the Elves, and an actual _giggle_ from Bilbo, albeit stifled desperately by his hand. Gandalf merely stood back, holding his staff in front of him, an amused smile on his grandfatherly face. Elrond was appraising her, looking her up and down. Several tense moments passed.

“Well,” Elrond said, a smile finally tugging at his lips. “I feel properly abased. Quite humbled, in fact. It has been centuries since a woman other than my mother has given me a dressing-down like that. And in public, no less! Would you accept my sincere apology, Lady …?”

She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on her hips, ignoring his question. “Apology accepted. And I'm no lady.”

“I know you.” A lyrical Elven voice said from above. _Odin's beard._ Well, she had done this to herself. “Moira, isn't it?” Moira could _feel_ the scowl she knew was forming on Thorin's face.

The Elf dismounted and took off his helmet, going to stand beside Elrond. “She's a Ranger, Father.”

“Indeed.” Elrond raised his brow at her. “You might have opened with that. Rangers of the North are always welcome at the Last Homely House.”

Moira couldn't help but scowl, hands still planted firmly on her hips. “But the rest of my friends aren't?” She tried to ignore that Fili was standing next to her now, beaming with pride.

Thorin turned to her, his fearsome ire starting to rise. “You know this … _Elf?_ ” He snarled, spitting out the word 'elf' like it was a curse as he gestured at Elrond's son – she didn't know which one he was. “Why did you make no mention of this?”

She drew herself up to her full height, which admittedly was not very impressive. But she took advantage of the measly two or three inches she had on the Dwarf King to glare down at him, meeting his barely contained fury with her own.

“I am a Ranger.” She was careful not to mention his name, so that he would not blame her for betraying his identity to Elrond, “I made no secret of this. Rangers sometimes work with Elves for the greater good of Middle-Earth as a whole.” She had to admit that _'Elves'_ came out of her mouth sounding like she had tasted something sour, as if she had bitten into a meal that had already spoiled, although she hadn't intended it. Thorin, however, noticed. He cocked his head to the side as he looked at her for a moment, thinking. _Fili does the same thing,_ Moira thought, and immediately mentally slapped herself. _Dammit girl, stop thinking about him, you have a job to do! ___

“Very well,” Thorin said gruffly and turned back to face Elrond as the dark-haired Elf Lord stepped forward to address the obvious leader of the Company.

“Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain.”

Thorin concealed his surprise well. “I do not believe we have met.”

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thrór when he ruled under the Mountain.”

“Indeed?” Thorin responded. “He made no mention of you.” Moira snickered, and Thorin threw her a warning look, so she quickly shut up.

Elrond smiled slowly, his sharp eyes sweeping over the entire Company. “If you are wearied and hungry, I offer you rest and refreshment here in my halls.” Moira noted with satisfaction that he said the sentence in Westron (unlike in the movie), having taken her earlier criticism to heart. Thorin nodded regally to Elrond, accepting his offer. As the Company started to proceed up the steps behind Gandalf and the Elf Lord, Fili fell into step beside her.

“I'm impressed with how you handled that.” Fili whispered to her as they followed .

“Elrond, or your uncle?”

"Both.”

She smiled then, the first genuine, honest smile she had given him since she had started avoiding him.

~000~

When they got to the dining hall, and most of the Dwarves went to sit a table in the middle of the room, Moira's fears were confirmed. “Lady Moira, would you care to dine with us at the high table?” Lord Elrond spoke. “I would love to hear a report of the latest doings of the Rangers.” When she hesitated, she saw Fili whisper something to his brother. Kili nodded.

“Moira!” The exuberant younger Dwarf bellowed, waving his arms excitedly to get her attention. 

“Come sit with us!!” He slid over, making room on the stone bench between himself and his brother. Relief flooded through Moira at the escape they had given her.

“Thank you, Lord Elrond, but no thanks. I am a simple woman, not made for high councils and the concerns of governance. Besides, I have not been in the North for some months, and I'm afraid I would have nothing to report that you are not already aware of.” Almost as an afterthought, she added. “And as I said, I'm no lady.”

Before the Elf Lord could respond, she made a beeline for the brothers and wedged herself into the offered spot on the bench between them. She might have to put up with Fili's teasing, but now that she was actually here in Rivendell with the weight of Elrond's (at least) 3,000 year old eyes watching her, she found she preferred that to having to make conversation with the too-wise Elf.

“Thank you,” she whispered to them. Kili grinned a toothy grin in response, and Fili smiled warmly, glad that she was talking to him again.

Moira heard the conversation with Elrond about the swords discovered in the troll hoard begin behind her. She blocked it out to focus on what was happening at her own table, as she looked for something to eat. The salad-y foods and sweets that the Elves served weren't bad, and in fact the deserts were amazing. But still, Moira wished that this particular detail had been a little closer to the books, instead of the movieverse. After all that running from the Orcs and Wargs earlier, she really wanted some protein. The Dwarves were even less impressed with the cuisine. Moira did like the drinks however. There was lots of wine and honey mead and some kind of fruity concoction that tasted like pears and cherries and blueberries, all at once, with a minty aftertaste.

After a while Moira noticed Kili was watching one of the pretty, full-lipped Elf women playing the harp in the dining hall. When he caught her gaze, he smiled his charming smile and winked. Across from him Dwalin sat, giving him a pointed look, as if to say, _Really? An Elf?_

“Can't say I fancy Elf maids, myself.” Kili quickly covered, fooling no one. “They're all high cheekbones and creamy skin. Not enough facial hair for me. Although,” he glanced discreetly at the dark-haired Elf musician that was circling the table behind them, playing a small lute-type of instrument. “That one's not bad.”

“That's not an Elf maid,” Dwalin responded. Kili's wide-eyed, deer-in-the-highlights look of shock was indeed hilarious, but Moira felt sorry for him as all the Dwarves began to roar with laughter, while Kili's cheeks burned.

“Come on, guys,” she chimed in. “It's not his fault their entire race is so damn girly.” Kili looked at her with surprise and gratitude, clearly having expected her to laugh along with the others. “I mean honestly, Elrond is the only male of his race I've met that _kind of_ looks like a guy. I'd almost swear he has three daughters, instead of two sons and one daughter.” The Dwarves were roaring with laughter now, slapping their thighs, but this time not at Kili's expense.

“Thank you for sparing my brother some embarrassment,” Fili whispered in her ear. Suddenly, an evil plan began to form in her mind, a way to pay Fili back for all the teasing he had subjected her to over the past several weeks (or was it months now?). And it would embarrass him in front of the Company, the way he had been embarrassing her with his public attentions.

“Personally, I prefer my men to be men and my women to be women.” she continued.

“Mind you, their women _are _quite beautiful. That one there,” She nodded towards a blonde She-Elf sitting across the room, smiling and laughing with her companions. “reminds me of one of my old lovers.”__

____

Suddenly all the laughter from the normally rowdy Dwarves died down. You could have heard a pin drop at the table, as every single Dwarf at the table turned to look at her.

“L-lovers?” Ori squeaked. The girl she used to be would have been embarrassed, but Moira refused to be. She was Viking; she would not be ashamed.

“Oh, aye.” A wicked grin spread across her face. “I don't know how it is among Dwarves, but where _I'm_ from, it's not unusual or looked down upon to take lovers of the same sex, _especially_ among females.”

Fili had started to shift uncomfortably next to her. _Good._ She thought. _Yet him be uncomfortable for a change._

“Of course,” Moira chuckled, “She would have throttled me for using such a sappy word as 'lover'. Not exactly sentimental, my Cara.” She took a bite of the cake in front of her and chewed slowly.

“Tell us more,” Nori burst out eagerly after a few moments.

His proper older brother hit him upside the back of his head. “That's nothing to ask of a lady!” Dori barked.

“She volunteered!” the star-haired thief protested.

“No, it's quite alright,” Moira waved Dori's protests away. “I understand. Besides, as I keep telling everyone, I'm no lady.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, an action mirrored by (nearly) every Dwarf at the table. Dori was still grumbling, but everyone ignored him.

“She was a beauty. Any man would have sold his soul for a night with her, but she was mine. Beautiful, straight golden hair, a fierce gaze, plumb full lips, and a body that could rival Freyja, Goddess of Love and Beauty.” She glanced at Fili. His blue eyes were dark and his gaze slightly dazed. Moira could practically see the images going through his mind and decided to push it further.

“She was a warrior, extremely dominant in her personality. She always wore tight-fitting red leather, and watching her fight her enemies was the most arousing thing I've ever seen.” Moira's smile got wider and even more wicked. “And she _really_ knew what she was doing, both on the battlefield, and in the bedroom.”

A choking sound came from her right. Kili sprang up to pound on his brother's back, as the golden prince's face started to turn red. The Dwarves around her started to laugh raucously again.

Moira reached for the delicate goblet in front of her and took a sip of the fruity liquid inside as Fili coughed and sputtered. “Problem?” She asked innocently, gazing at him bemusedly. “Your face is almost as red as Cara's leathers.” When Fili's coughing fit had died down, Kili rubbed his back comfortingly, and said to him, “I think she wins this round, dear brother.” When they both glanced her way, Moira raised an eyebrow at them and took a sip of her drink. Fili quickly looked away, the flush on his face deepening, if that was possible. _Well, that confirms that Kili is it on Fili's game, then,_ she thought. _Maybe I have been going about this the wrong way._

With Oin grumbling about the music (and who probably hadn't heard most of the exchange anyway, with his hearing problems), Bofur chose that moment to break the tension by standing on the table and loudly singing his merry drinking song about the man in the moon coming down to an inn and getting drunk. The Dwarves cheered, sang along, pounded out a beat on the table, or pelted him with the Elven food they despised so much. The Elves were horrified, which of course only made the Dwarves more boisterous. Apparently that was all that was needed for Fili to forget his embarrassment from a few moments before, because he was soon singing loudly and throwing food with the rest of them, throwing her a grin that made her heart skip a beat.

“What about you, lass?” Bofur, still standing atop the table, turned to her and gestured as if he wanted her to join him. “Sing us a song from your country?” There was a chorus of agreement from around the table.

“Hela, no!” she laughed. “Not after last time!” Moira had sang them _Counting Stars_ , which she had thought would be a safe enough song from her time to share. But it had led to having to explain what paper money was, since there was a line about burning money, which had really upset Gloin more than she thought it would. For days Gloin had grumbled about what nonsense it was to have paper currency, money that could be ruined by rain and fire and dirt and easily ripped. She had initially laughed at his horror, but quickly became annoyed at his endless harping on the subject, AND his grumbling about the ridiculousness of a song that encouraged such wanton destruction of wealth. Although, Fili and Kili had found the older, flame-haired Dwarf's discomfort hilarious and kept finding ways to bring the subject up again ….

“Oh, come on now lassie, we promise not to make fun this time.” Bofur promised.

Moira shook her head. “You don't want me to sing anyway. Almost every song I know is really, really sad, and that would totally ruin the mood.”

“They can't all be sad.” Kili chimed in from beside her. _They aren't, but most have references you wouldn't get and I don't want to explain_.

“It's that, or love songs, and a lot of those are sad too. Unless ...” her voice drifted off as she considered. 

“Unless?” Fili prompted, clearly recovered enough from earlier to pester her. Maybe she had shared too much information for too little gain.

“I have a few songs I think may work.” Cheers went up around the table. “But I'm not standing on the table.”

“Fair enough, lass.” Bofur got down and took a seat, flashing her a smile from beneath his ridiculous hat. Moira did stand up, leaning against nearby stone pillar instead of vaulting onto the table. It would be difficult to get the proper lung capacity to sing while wedged between Fili and Kili. She centered herself, closed her eyes, and started to hum for a moment, before opening her eyes and singing, her voice strong with conviction:

 

 _Mmmmm Mmmmm_  
_The air is cold tonight_  
_There's [sweat] in my ee-eyes_  
_This is the eve of battle, yes_  
_I left my other life behind_  
_All I can see is the front lines_  
_This is eve of battle_

 

 _Is the real? This cause I'm fighting for_  
_Am I real? I don't know anymore_  
_What do I stand for?_  
_In my left, in right, in my up and down_  
_In my east, in my west, do I wear the crown?_  
_Is my creed worth dying for?_  
_What do I live for? Can you tell on my face what my heart beats for?_  
_Do the words that I speak show it to the core?_  
_Does my glow outshine the stars?_  
_Can you see my coat of arms?_  
_Whoa Ohh-OO-Ohh_  
_Can you see my coat of arms?_  
_Whoa Ohh-OO-Ohh_

 

 _The drummer boy's getting ready_  
_I'm trying to keep my hands steady_  
_This is the dawn of battle, yes_  
_I'm never been so afraid_  
_Forgot my family and my name_  
_This is the dawn of battle_

 

 _Is the real? This cause I'm fighting for_  
_Am I real? I don't know anymore_  
_What do I stand for?_  
_In my left, in right, in my up and down_  
_In my east, in my west, do I wear the crown?_  
_Is my creed worth dying for?_  
_What do I live for? Can you tell on my face what my heart beats for? ___  
_Do the words that I speak show it to the core?_  
_Does my glow outshine the stars?_  
_Whoa Ohh-OO-Ohh_  
_Can you see my coat of arms?_  
_Whoa Ohh-OO-Ohh_  
_Can you see my coat of arms? ___

_____ _

__

_Every second counts as the clock ticks back and forth_  
_Time is running out_  
_Tell me do you know for sure who you are_  
_Cuz you only have one life to live_

 

 _Is the real? This cause I'm fighting for_  
_Am I real? I don't know anymore_  
_What do I stand for?_  
_In my left, in right, in my up and down_  
_In my east, in my west, Do I wear the crown?_  
_Is my creed worth dying for?_  
_What do I live for? Can you tell on my face what my heart beats for?_  
_Do the words that I speak show it to the core?_  
_Does my glow outshine the stars?_  
_Whoa Ohh-OO-Ohh_  
_Can you see my coat of arms?_  
_Whoa Ohh-OO-Ohh_  
_Can you see my coat of arms?_

When she finished, the cheering Dwarves demanded another, so she launched into _The Eye of the Tiger_ , and then, _Centuries_. She tried to pick songs that sounded like battle anthems, but she only remembered a few of them, so it wasn't long before she declared she was finished, and gave an overly dramatic bow, to much applause and affectionate food hurling. Across the room, Elrond, his sons, Thorin, Balin, Bilbo, and Gandalf were gathered around the high table. Their own conversation long over, they were now watching and listening to Moira's singing, Bilbo smiling as he did so. He was moving his feet as if he wanted to tap along with the beat of the song, but the poor Hobbit was too short for his feet to reach the ground from a chair built for beings with much longer legs.

“You should not be affronted that she did not sit with us.” Elladan commented to his father from across the room. “It is unusual to see her so engaged. Amongst the Rangers she was withdrawn and rarely smiled. She behaved as one who carried a great weight upon her shoulders. I never once heard her laugh. Yet now, with these … companions, she seems very much alive.”

“Indeed?” Elrond responded. “It would appear that the company of Dwarves seems to agree with her.”

 _Or just one._ Thorin thought darkly. His back was turned towards the rest of the room, but he watched Moira out of the corner of his eye. When she had finished her singing, she returned to her seat and Fili wrapped an arm around her shoulders, whispering something in the human woman's ear. She laughed. Thorin's scowl deepened. He had noticed his sisterson's interest in the woman, but had ignored it when it seemed as if she did not feel the same way. She had, after all, gone out of her way for avoid him for weeks, making Thorin think that he would not have to the one to crush his nephew's hopes. Despite what many may think, Thorin was not completely hardhearted, and he disliked making his beloved nephews unhappy, even if it was sometimes necessary. But now, if there was a risk of her returning his affections …

Thorin was developing a headache. He rose his fingers to his temples and rubbed vigorously. He was going to have to put a stop to whatever was developing between the Ranger and his eldest nephew. She had proven herself an able fighter, and could be of some use to the Company. He had no wish to resume the antagonistic way they had related to each other in the beginning of the quest. But Mahal help him, Fili was his heir! _Blast Tharkûn for insisting on bringing a Hobbit and a human female – even a Ranger – on OUR quest._ Thorin's headache was definitely getting worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: As long as this chapter has been, there is still more that needs to happen in Rivendell for this story, so prepare for another flashback chapter.  
> The song is Coat of Arms. Moira purposely changes 'gunpowder' to 'sweat' in the line 'there's gunpowder in my eyes' so she wouldn't have to try to explain what gunpowder is. Understandably, I think! If you see these symbols [ ] in song lyrics in this fic, that means that words have been changed to be more Middle-Earthy.  
> It's probably obvious, but Tharkûn is the Dwarven name for Gandalf. Dude gets around, he has as many names as Aragorn.


	9. Elastic Heart

_while still on the quest, in Rivendell ……_

   


Fili wandered the halls of Rivendell restlessly. The Company had already stayed in the Elven valley for several days, waiting for the right phrase of the moon to read the runes on Thorin's map. Being surrounded by Elves was weighing on every member of the company, except of course for Bilbo and Gandalf. It was finally the morning of Midsummer's Eve; Elrond would read the map tonight, and they’d finally be on their way tomorrow. But Fili was restless for another reason, besides being immobile and hosted by Elves. After that first day when it had seemed as if Moira was relaxing around him, she had all but disappeared. Her running hot and cold was beginning to annoy him, but he had to admit it was also part of what kept him interested. He had never had to pursue a lass he was interested in for so long before, either Darrowdam or Manfolk. It was both extremely frustrating and extremely exciting.

Fili had noted with interest that unlike many of her race, Moira seemed nearly as uncomfortable around their hosts as any of the Dwarves, although most oft she retreated into herself instead of lashing out in anger. _Not counting the first time she meet Elrond_ , Fili thought with a chuckle. He was certain she would never have allowed herself to lose her temper like that if they had not spent an entire night and half a day running from Orcs and Wargs. Still Fili could not help but be impressed by the way she had stared down both the ancient Elf and the fearsome anger of his uncle, whose own temper he knew from experience was also quite fearsome. It only made him desire Moira more.

As a Dwarf, Fili took distrust of Elves as a given. But he had seen how Men idolized the pointy-eared immortals, awed by their beauty, immortality, and wisdom, and was surprised that Moira did not do the same. He wondered what the story behind that was, if indeed there was a story. But thus far after the first day in Rivendell, he had only seen her at mealtimes, before she quickly slipped off again, going Mahal knows where, doing Mahal knows what. 

  
   
~000~  
   


In a secluded, tree-lined glen, Moira went through her stances with her daggers. She whirled the twin weapons in her palms, slicing at empty air, before spinning around, as if trying to decapitate an invisible enemy. She had shed most of her layers of traveling clothes in a messy pile under one of the silver-leafed trees. In the safety of Imladis, she could worry more about comfort than practicality. She intended to take full advantage of not having to carry every object she owned on her person, even if it were just for one more day. With her heavy wool cloak and linen tunic removed, she only wore a form-fighting sleeveless bodice of forest green, black leggings, and soft, brown leather boots. Her dark hair was growing at an annoying pace, and it was at that stage where it was ragged-looking, long enough to get in her face, but too short to do anything with. She was going to have to cut it soon. Her muscled arms were covered in a fine sheen of sweat from the exertion of her workout. She had come here every day to work out her frustrations.

When she wasn’t practicing her swordplay, she cast the runes obsessively, seeking guidance. She was determined to try to save Fili’s life in the great battle at the end of the quest, and Kili’s and Thorin’s too. But she wasn’t sure what to do beyond that. Did Gandalf know who she was? Had he scooped her up for a reason? If she realized who she was, could the wizard put an end to her curse? He was a Maiar, after all. Would she be able to save Fili at the Battle of Five Armies? Was she going to have to make the horrible choice of choosing between saving Fili and saving Kili and/or Thorin? Would she die herself in the process? Would getting involved with Fili be beneficial to her goal of saving his life, or would it only cloud matters? Was it even possible to have a life with him?

No answers were forthcoming. Her emotions were churning like a hurricane-tossed sea, and the runes could only be cast and read properly while calm. She may as well have been shaking a Magic 8 ball, repeatedly getting “Answer Hazy; Try Again Later”. The calmness of Rivendell was not good for her. It made her think too much. In the wild there was no time to think. In the wild, life was all about survival, the desperate fight to continue to live. Even when not fighting off Orcs or running from Wargs, survival was always paramount. There was always the next job, the next step to think about. Fires to build, shelter to find, food to forage for, dangerous weather and animals to stay on the look-out for. Not being skilled with a bow made hunting require even more thought and planning on her part. But since she was an excellent tracker, she had learned to make snares. Every night she searched for rabbit-paths to set them up on near camp, and the Company usually ate rabbit or some other small game for breakfast. No matter what, there was always something to occupy the mind and body out there. Not here. In Elven cities, time seemingly stood still, which left her mind free to wander down any path it would. And that path usually went to a particularly dark corner of her past, or to her tumultuous emotions and worries and fears for the future. In the wild, there was only the eternal present. She was most comfortable there.

“Lady Moira?”

She whirled around, nearly jumping out of her skin. _Some Ranger._  She hadn’t heard a fucking thing! _Gods-damned Elves!_ It was Elladan and Elrohir. _Great. Both of them this time._

“Odin’s beard! Announce yourself, why don’t you! You guys are so damned quiet!”

“I apologize if we startled you –“

“Damn right, you did!”

The other one finished the first’s sentence. “But our father wishes to speak with you.”

 _Uh oh._ At the mention of Lord Elrond, Moira stilled. Her mind whirling, she briefly considered refusing. But that would be suspicious as _**fuck**_ , so she decided against it. She sighed.

“Fine. Just give me a moment to gather my stuff.”

~000~

Moira’s apprehension had grown with every step she took following the tall, graceful twins. They normally tried to engage her in conversation about the Rangers, with her being the reserved one. Now they were stony silent. Every instinct told her to bolt. It took all her willpower to continue to place one foot in front of the other. Elladan and Elrohir led her to one of the many council chambers in Rivendell.

“We’ll take our leave here.” They both inclined their heads to her elegantly, and then beat a hasty (for an Elf) retreat. They didn’t spare her another glance or make sure actually entered the room to conduct her to their father. _Odin help me, that is not a good sign._ When she was sure they had turned the corner and wouldn’t see what she was doing, Moira cracked the door. The words that came to her ears through the crack made her blood run cold and confirmed her worst fears.

“She’s been marked by dark magic, Gandalf. I know you can feel it.”

Moira’s heart skipped a beat. It was Elrond speaking, and arguing with Gandalf. _About her._

“That was not of her doing.”

“How do you know? You’ve admitted that you’ve never spoken to her about it!”

“I do not need to. I’ve looked into her heart. Trust me, mellon.”

Certain that she was going to painted as a villain, Moira fled. She only had to avoid Elrond until a few hours after moonrise, when she knew that Gandalf would be occupying the White Council while the Company sneaks out of Imladis. If she moved from room to room, garden to garden, balcony to balcony, she could most likely hide until it was time to leave… She’d have to skip the next couple of meals, but she’d gone without food for longer. She’d survive. Because she ran, Moira didn’t hear the rest of conversation.

“She needs our help, Mithrandir. Her burden will only grow, and the darkness that marks her soul will threaten to consume her.”

“I know, old friend. But she must ask for our help, and I fear that day is a long way off. If we offer it to her when she is not ready, I sense she will flee like a freighted deer. For now, my heart tells me she has a role to play here, and that her destiny bound up with Durin’s Folk, but I do not know how yet …”

~000~  


It was raining, trapping Dwarf and Elf alike inside. Fili had not seen Moira since breakfast. She had sat with Bilbo and Balin at a small, half-moon shaped table against the wall that didn’t have room for anyone else, and then promptly disappeared. It was afternoon now; she had inexplicably skipped lunch, which she had never done before. That worried Fili. Even if she wasn’t the biggest fan of Elven food, she had never missed a meal, because as she had put it when Dwalin and Oin had complained about the lack of meat, “you never know if you’re gonna find an actual full meal in the wild, and I’ve gone hungry too many times in my life to turn down free food.”  So when she didn’t show up for the evening meal, either, Fili was _really_ worried. Kili was the only other one of the Company who shared his concern, although he suspected his brother was searching the other side of Rivendell just to humor him. So now Fili wandered the maze of open-walled, interconnected buildings, searching.

He found himself in the library, which was strangely deserted. Considering the rain, he would have expected to see _somebody here_. He was about to leave, when he heard a soft, familiar voice singing quietly. _That couldn’t be … Could it?_ It was. He hadn’t seen her because she was tucked away in a far corner, where there were actual solid walls away from the openness that let in the warm summer wind. She was sitting on a long, low couch, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked miserable.

Her eyes were closed as she sang softly to herself, but Fili slipped behind a pillar to listen, just in case she opened them. He felt slightly guilty for ease-dropping, but pushed that aside. When she sang for the Company, the songs she had chosen were clearly picked for their enjoyment. He hoped maybe her choice was she was alone would give him a clue to how she was feeling, and perhaps help him to break through her barriers. He didn’t recognize some of the words in the songs she sang, but as he listened, he heard the indeterminable sadness in her voice, so deep and wide it was like a wave threatening to pull him under and drown him in a sea of hopelessness. _Is this what she really feels, when she’s alone?_ Fili felt a surge of pity, unbidden, and immediately realized that pity was the last thing his proud Ranger would want from him, or anyone. There was a reason she kept this part of herself locked anyway. Still, Fili longed to let her know that she could tell him anything, share any of her burdens with him, and he would shoulder it gladly, do his best to take the pain away, and protect her from her demons. The intensity of his response surprised him, and made him realize that his feelings for the human woman went far, far deeper than mere desire, friendship, or infatuation. _When did that happen?_ Fili thought to himself. Moira’s eyelids fluttered, and he watched, entranced, as she stilled for a moment, before she began to sing another song. He listened intently to the words

 _And another one bites the dust_  
_Oh, why cannot I not conquer love?_  
_And I might have thought that we were one_  
_Wanted to fight this war without weapons_  
_And I want it, I wanted it so bad_  
_But there were so many red flags_  
_Now another one bites the dust_  
   
_Oh, let's be clear, I trust no one_  
_You did not break me_  
_I'm still fighting for peace_  
   
_But I've got thick skin and an elastic heart_  
_But your blade, it might be too sharp_  
_I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard_  
_Oh I may snap and I move fast_  
_You won't see me fall apart_  
_Cuz I've got an elastic heart_  
_Oh, I've got an elastic heart_  
   
_Oh I will stay up through the night_  
_Oh, let's be clear, won't close my eyes_  
_And I know that I can survive_  
_I'll walk through fire to save my life_  
_And I want it, I want my life so bad_  
_I'm doing everything I can_  
_And another one bites the dust_  
_It's hard to lose a chosen one_  
   
_You did not break me_  
_I'm still fighting for peace_  
   
_I've got thick skin and an elastic heart_  
_But your blade, it might be too sharp_  
_I'm like a rubber band and if you pull to hard_  
_Oh I may snap and I move fast_  
_You won't see me fall --_

The song ended in the middle of a sentence with a soft sob, and before Fili had thought about what he was doing he was by her side. She looked up at him from her position on the low couch, and he expected her to be angry that he had been spying on her, but he saw only an empty sadness. She hardly looked like the same woman who had bellowed at Lord Elrond and stared down Thorin Oakenshield, just days before. Right now, with tears streaking her face, she looked so much younger, like a broken child. It hit him, just then, how young she really was. She was Manfolk, she could not have yet reached her third decade, or so he’d wager. Although he did have difficulty telling the age of Men. What could have possibly happened to her in so short a time that would weigh her down so?

She gazed up at him, a question on her face, not saying a word. On impulse, Fili leaned down, only hesitating a moment before he kissed her. She didn’t run or reject him this time. She kissed him back, softly at first, lips moving against his slowly. Her lips were just as soft as he remembered. When the kiss ended, she drew herself up wordlessly, holding onto his collar, so she was perched on her knees on the couch. That action bought them nearly level.

Fili saw the emotions warring in her dark eyes, the fear, sadness, desire, hope, and something else he couldn’t yet name. Moira’s hands were still at his collar, her fingertips touching the bare flesh of his neck. He could feel trembling. It scared him. This was so unlike her. She was the strongest woman he had ever met, other than his own mother. Her eyes roamed his face, searching for … something. He didn’t know what. She still looked so sad. He didn’t want her to look sad after kissing him.

Fili took her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing each tear-stained cheek slowly. She shivered at his touch. Her eyelids fluttered, but those bewitching dark eyes never left his. He wanted so much to ask her what was wrong, but somehow he sensed that the question would cause her to immediately flee. Instead he kissed her again, and he knew it was the right decision when her body melted into his. His mouth moved against hers gently, softly. Her hands slid back to grasp the back of his neck, holding his lips to hers. He couldn’t help but smile against her mouth, triumphant. He had _known_ she wanted this as much as him. When he did so, he was surprised that she was the one to deepen the kiss by sliding her tongue along his lips, gently probing. He tenderly responded, one of the hands cupping her face moving up to stroke her far-too-short hair as his tongue glided along hers.

He pulled away from the kiss, smiling at the small sound of protest Moira made as her hands slid down his chest. They rested at his belt buckle for a moment, as she looked up at him, unsure of what to do, before sliding around his waist and pulling him closer, sliding them up his back again. His left hand still cupping her face, he planted soft kisses on her tear-stained cheeks, wanting nothing more than to wipe those marks away and leave only a healthy, happy glow. She swayed a little, and his right arm moved to circle her waist, ceasing to stroke her hair.

Eventually, when Fili was satisfied that the tear-marks had disappeared, he moved to her delicate earlobe, planting a small kiss there, and was rewarded with a gasp. He had guessed her ears would be sensitive, from the many times he had whispered into her ears and seen her shiver in response. He blew onto her ear now, and she arched her body against him. He couldn’t suppress his groan. He kissed the spot directly below her ear, his tongue darting out to lick the pink flesh, drawing out the first true moan from Moira’s lips. Both of his arms circled her waist now, as he continued to kiss and gently nip at her neck and throat, delighting in every little gasp and breathy moan she made.

“Fili,” she breathed, so softly he almost didn’t hear it, even as every fiber of his being was attuned to the noises she was making. Hearing her say his name like that made his spirit soar and caused a delicious tightness below his belt, which he ignored, for now, to concentrate on her. Her hands had come back to his shoulders, and she was clinging to him for dear life. She swayed again, even with the support of both his arms, and that had him make the decision to lay her back onto the couch. He briefly considered lying on the couch with her, but decided against it. She had seemed nervous when her hands had ended up at his belt buckle earlier. The last thing Fili wanted to do was push her farther than she wanted to go, especially when she was feeling so vulnerable.

Instead, he kneeled on the ground beside the couch, and claimed her lips again. This time her hands went to his hair, and Fili had to suppress a moan. He doubted she had any idea how sensitive a Dwarf’s scalp was, and therefore what touching their hair would do to them. It was a very good thing he hadn’t laid on the couch with her. There was a reason that traditionally the only person, other than family members, allowed to touch a Dwarf’s hair was their partner. That didn’t mean they had to be married first, of course. Dwarves were chivalrous, not castrated. But for an unrelated person to a touch a Dwarf’s hair was distinctly sexual. When she had caressed his braids in the woods, she had unintentionally stated that she wished to pursue him and begin courting. He knew she didn’t realize this, but his body and heart had responded anyway. They were responding similarly now. He kissed her harder, his hands sliding down the sides of her slim torso, avoiding touching what he really wanted to touch, not yet. Not until she gave him verbal permission for it to go further. Fili felt her shiver, moaning softly into his mouth. Mahal, he wanted her. She was testing his determination to not push her.

He pulled away from the kiss, wanting to look at her, noticing that this time her parted lips were swollen and slick from his attentions, her cheeks flushed attractively. It pleased Fili immensely to see the dazed look in Moira’s eyes. It confirmed that she wanted him just as much he did her. She moaned his name again as he bent to kiss her collarbone, running his tongue along the clavicle. He tasted her sweat, smelled the flowery Elvish soap she’d been using. He preferred the earthy musk she attained when she’d been sleeping beneath the pines, but he delighted in her unique scent anyway.

His hand laid on her stomach, between her leggings and bodice, rubbing gently. “Fili, I-” She moaned as he kissed her neck again. That hadn’t been a moan, she was trying to say something. He continued to kiss her neck.

“Fili, we -” she gasped again before she could get what she was saying out.

His voice was rough when he responded, stopping his ministrations. “Yes, lass?”

“We should slow down. I-I-I don’t want to go too fast.” He nodded into her neck.

“Are you mad?” She asked, apprehension plain in her voice.

Fili chuckled, pulling himself back, but not without effort. “Lass, yesterday I wasn’t sure you even wanted to talk to me.”

“I didn’t.”  She sighed. “I was afraid this would happen.”

“Is it really so terrible?” Fili kissed the bridge of her nose, making her smile.

“No, it’s _wonderful_.” She sighed again. “It’s just …complicated.”

Fili got the impression that she didn’t mean it was complicated because of the quest, or his uncle, or that they were of two different races, or even because he was royalty. He was almost certain that she was over her former husband, although understandably, the pain of her lost child would never go away. He would never expect it to. No, he sensed there was something else, something that haunted her that she was unwilling to share. But he didn’t ask. Moira would tell him when she was ready and only when she was ready. Pushing her now would only push her further away from him. She could keep her secrets for now. He only wanted her. Fili kissed the middle of her forehead, and Moira sighed in contentment. A smile ghosted across his lips. _That’s what I want to hear_. Fili placed his forehead to hers, one of his hands on the back of her neck, and closed his eyes. He doubted she understood the significance of the gesture, but he found himself wanting to do so anyway. In that moment, Fili thought he could stay like this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: I know, I know, if she’s trying to hide from Elrond, she shouldn’t be in the library, singing to herself. I sort of wrote myself into a corner, when in the third chapter, “Firsts”, I mentioned that their first real, slow-burning kiss had not only been in Rivendell, but in the library on a rainy day. But I NEEDED this exchange between Gandalf and Elrond to happen, and mood-wise, the kiss kinda had to happen AFTER Moira overhears it. She needed to be scared and broken enough to let Fili in at that moment. Of course, she doesn’t know that Elrond isn’t actually sending out guards looking for her, like she thinks. So, there’s that. I could just get rid of the singing, but I’m one of those horrible people who likes song lyrics in fics, plus the singing is how Fili finds her. Deal with it, I guess. As to the actual kiss itself …..   :: fans self ::   Did it get hot in here all of a sudden?


	10. Hymn for the Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath of Moira's flight from Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, Thorin doesn't come off very well in this chapter.  
> As always, plz feed your local writer with reviews. We don't own the Hobbit and we aren't getting paid, we live on your love and reviews!  
>  **Khuzdul words:**  
>  Nadad = brother.  
> 

You took it with you when you left  
These scars are just a trace  
Now it wanders lost and wounded  
This heart that I misplaced  
\- Hymn for the Missing by Red

 

“YOU DID WHAT??!!” Fili roared, his face contorted in an expression of pure rage, his hands balled into fists at his side. His body was shaking with anger, setting his braids swinging as he fought for control. It took all of his willpower not to launch himself at his uncle, King Under the Mountain or no.

“You heard me.” Thorin's voice was low and dark, his anger carefully controlled. But his eyes sparkled dangerously, like hard chips of obsidian. Kili looked back and forth helplessly between his brother and uncle, unsure how to defuse the rapidly escalating situation. In truth he understood his elder brother's reaction, and would be behaving in much the same way if he was in his Fili's place. But he was uncertain how to keep this exchange from ending in blows.

“YOU DECEIVED ME!!” Fili continued to bellow. “YOU HAD NO RIGHT!!”

“I had every right!” Thorin's voice was dangerous, his deep baritone carrying an implicit threat. “And let me remind you that she more than cooperated. In fact it was her idea. SHE came to ME.”

“YOU DROVE HER TO IT!!” Fili's volume raised even louder. “YOU NEVER _TRIED_ TO MAKE HER FEEL WELCOME!! YOU ALWAYS MADE IT CLEAR YOU DISAPPROVED OF HER BEING WITH ME!!!”

Thorin lost any semblance of control then and the volume of his voice raised drastically. “If her love is so fickle as to be so EASILY turned away from you, then she doesn't DESERVE your devotion in the first place! And why _should_ I make her feel welcome? She is MANFOLK! They don't understand loyalty like we do! Most likely she FUCKED that jumped-up bargeman her first night away from the Mountain!”

Kili knew his brother well enough to see the attack coming before their uncle did, saw the subtle change in his posture, but he didn't act fast enough. Fili leapt, a wordless bellow of fury and emotional pain ripping from his lungs as his balled fists collided with Thorin's jaw. The force of the blows, combined with the suddenness of the attack from his nephew, caught the older warrior off-guard enough that he was knocked backwards into the wooden table. But Thorin reacted immediately, punching back with a growl, attempting to knee Fili in the groin, which he blocked. The two Dwarves both tumbled to the stone ground, still struggling against the other. Kili silently thanked Mahal that they were in their Uncle's royal chambers and not a more public area of Erebor as he rushed to pull Fili from Thorin.

“NO! Kee, let me go!” Fili was still punching and kicking the air as Kili hauled him off of the wrathful Dwarf King.

“No! Fili, your wounds!” Fili was still healing from the serious blow that Azog had dealt him at the Battle of Five Armies, and this struggle couldn't be good for him. Kili tightened his hold on his brother's waist.

“I don't care!”

“Look what she's done to you.” Thorin said coldly. He had resumed standing again. A few bruises were starting to form around his mouth, and he would have a black eye tomorrow. Right now, he regarded his sisterson with an haughty look of cool detachment that only enraged Fili more. “She's weakened you, nephew.” Fili thrashed harder against Kili's hold in response.

“That's not helping!” Kili snapped. In truth the entire situation had Kili completely on edge and unnerved. He was usually the hothead and Fili usually played the voice of reason. He had never seen his brother so unhinged and he feared what he might do to Thorin if he slipped from his grasp.

There was a knock at the door, and before any of the Line of Durin could say anything, it opened. In strode Balin and Dwalin. Thankfully, Balin had the presence of mind to quickly shut the door behind him. But for a few heartbeats after that task was completed the sons of Fundin both looked back and forth between their King, standing with his arms crossed and glowering at his nephews, and the slim archer struggling to hold back his older, larger brother, who seemed have bloody murder shining in his eyes.

“Dwalin, help!” Kili cried. The spell finally broken, Dwalin finally did so, hurrying to take the furious prince from his younger brother. The Captain of the Guard clamped his massive arms around Fili, holding him nearly immobile.

“Dwalin, I ORDER you to to let me go!” Fili howled, attempting to fight Dwalin as he had Kili, but it was noticeably less effective against the much larger, muscle-bound Dwarf.

“It's no use lad, you may as well give it up.” Fili fought for a while longer, before finally stilling, sagging against the bald Dwarf. He continued to glare daggers at Thorin. Thorin glared right back. For a while all that was heard was the crackling of the fire in the fireplace.

“So, it's as bad as we've heard, then.” the white-bearded adviser was the one to break the stony silence that had descended on the five Dwarves.

“He sent Moira away!” Fili snarled.

“My nephew is acting a fool over a human _child_ he should have never been involved with in the first place!” Thorin snapped.

“Uncle, that's not fair,” Kili protested. “Moira saved all of us at the Battle of Ravenhill. She's honorable and just.”

“She may have saved you and your brother. She did not save me.” Thorin's tone was icy and left no room for protest or challenge.

“Alright, whatever she did or didn't do, that's enough of that.” Balin stepped in between feuding kin and looked Fili in the eyes, “Laddie, if Dwalin here lets you go, can we trust you not to go right for Thorin's throat?”

“He won't if he knows what's good for him.” was growled from behind the old adviser. Balin ignored Thorin's posturing and focused all his attention on the angry, heartbroken young Dwarf still held fast by Dwalin. “Laddie, I need your word.”

Fili was still glaring at Thorin, but his gaze softened when he looked at the oldest member of the Company he had traveled with to retake their ancestral homeland. “You have it.”

Dwalin finally let him go, cautiously, ready to grab hold of him again if he had to.

Fili stood, feet set wide apart, his battle-ready stance a challenge to his uncle. “I want to know why.”

“Isn't obvious? You're my heir. You cannot be pledged to a human.”

Fili bristled at the implication. “I will NOT marry another.”

Balin stepped in before Thorin could make the situation worse, shooting his friend and king a look. “No one is asking you to, laddie.” He addressed the blonde prince kindly.

“Not yet.” Balin sighed. Thorin just had to push it. “Now that she's gone, you can get over your little … _infatuation_ with her.”

Thorin almost staggered backwards at the absolute hatred in the glare his nephew cast at him then, but controlled his reaction, staring placidly back, projecting calm. Neither of his sistersons had ever looked at him like that. That kind of hatred was reserved for the likes of Azog, or for those damned pointy-eared immortals, but never for him. Instead of responding, Fili pivoted and stormed out, slamming the door behind him, making the occupants of the room jump at the loudness of the sound. Kili cast the other four a helpless glance before following hot on the heels of his beloved brother.

“Well done,” Dwalin grunted.

“Do ya think the lass ran because the lads' mother is so close to getting back to the Mountain?” Balin mused after the princes had left.

“Who can say?” Thorin picked up some papers that had been knocked to the floor during the scuffle with Fili and placed them back on the table, ignoring his trusted adviser and his sworn shield.

Balin shot his king another sharp look. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“Right.” Dwalin snorted, crossing his arms. “I've seen that look on your face before.”

“What did you tell the poor lass about Dis?”

Thorin sighed.

“What does it matter now? She's gone. It's done.” His tone left no room for argument, and the King Under the Mountain turned his back on his friends. After a few moments of stony silence, the Sons of Fundin quickly left, shaking their heads.

~000~

The brothers sat in Kili's chambers. The room was hewn from rough stone but richly and beautifully adorned in the Dwarven style, as befitted a Prince of Durin. It was elegant, but not in the Elven way of impracticality; everything in the room had a purpose _and_ was richly decorated. At the moment it was lit only by the gigantic fireplace that dominated the room.

After Fili had stormed out, he had proceeded to find his way to the nearest ale cask and begin drowning his sorrows and anger in the dark, foamy liquid. While Kili would normally be completely for a good drinking and brawling session and jump in with both feet to join his brother in busting heads, in this situation he knew that drink would only make things worse. It had taken all of his brother's persuading to get Fili up here. Now they sat in front of the large, ornately carved fireplace, casting its warmth and glow around the room, as they sat in comfortable, high-backed chairs and smoked, trying vainly to relax. Fili's initial righteous fury had finally calmed to a slower, simmering anger. Kili knew he was nowhere near forgiving Thorin, but he was far less likely to try to beat the tar out of their uncle and King now.

“He's so mad about you being in love with a woman of Men. Can you imagine what he would do if he knew about me and Tauriel?”

Fili couldn't help the lopsided smile that started to tug one side of his mouth upwards. “Maybe you should tell him. You know, get the heat off of me and Moira for a while.”

“You wish!”

The brothers laughed for a moment before becoming glum once more.

“You know, it's only been a week,” Kili started. “She probably hasn't gotten too far. You could try to find her.”

“Bard said she didn't say where she was going.”

"Do you believe him?”

“Aye.” There was a dangerous gleam in Fili's eyes as he said that. “I'm quite certain he wasn't lying. And if I did find her, what then? I can't bring her back against her will. And if I convinced her, and she returned …” His voice trailed off.

“You're afraid of how Thorin will treat her? For changing her mind?”

“Not just Thorin. With all the gossip swirling around both Erebor and Dale, the chance of her feeling accepted just dropped drastically. She was always more comfortable in the wild than in cities anyway, around so many people.”

Kili had no idea what to say to that. He knew it was true.

“Besides,” the blonde prince continued, “I'll not tell Uncle Thorin this, but I'm afraid I'm just as much to blame for driving her away as he is.”

Kili was incredulous. “I don't believe that!”

Fili shook his head, sending his blond mane of hair flying. “No, I'm afraid it's true.” He said grimly. “I was neglectful. I was so wrapped up in my duties as Thorin's heir that I failed to pay attention to her needs. I was so busy that I didn't see how uncomfortable she was here, that she wasn't fitting in, that she felt alone.”

“That's not your fault.” Kili protested. “She could have spoken up.”

“She's my One, and I couldn't see that she was drowning. She needed me and I wasn't there. That is _entirely_ my fault.” Fili sighed. “There are things you don't know about her, Kili, about her past. Things that have happened to her that still haunt her. I should have helped her more.”

“Like what?” Kili asked curiously.

“I cannot tell you. I gave my oath.”

Kili made an unhappy sound. He was entirely at a loss of how to comfort his elder brother. He didn't like the feeling.

“In truth I think she is running from her past as much as from the Mountain and from Thorin. She has such nightmares, Nadad.” Fili sighed and rubbed his eyes, looking so much older than his 82 years. “She speaks strange languages in her sleep, the like of which I have never heard, moans and screams as if in the worst agony, and if I try to wake her, she fights me like a wild animal. She will not tell me what she dreams of. And since the quest ended, they have been getting steadily worse.”

“Why did you not tell me this?”

“What could you have done? It was my responsibly to protect and care for her.”

“Oin could have made her a sleeping drought ...”

“I suggested that. She didn't want the questions. After a few more weeks of nightmares, I told Oin _I_ was the one having nightmares. That I was dreaming of the battle, and of Azog.”

Kili nodded. It was a believable story. No one would question it.

“They didn't work.”

Kili's brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“I do not know. Perhaps because she's human, and Oin thought he was brewing a potion for a Dwarf.”

They were quiet again for a while, staring into the fire. Kili was starting to feel drowsy from the large amount of strong Dwarvish ale he'd imbibed before he had convinced Fili to join him in his room. His brother had uncharacteristically told him that if he wasn't going to drink with him, he could leave. Kili had been unwilling to abandon his brother in his heartbreak, so he had no choice but to chug along with him until Fili tired of the game.

“I should not have yelled at her.”

“What?” Kili started.

“That day she snuck away to the woods, and you were wounded helping her fight off Orcs. As soon as we were alone, I yelled at her.” Shame filled Fili's voice. “I was so mad with worry for you, little brother. I was too harsh on her. I made her cry, Kili. I made my One _cry_.”

Kili hadn't known about that. “Fee, stop it, you're torturing yourself.” Kili's plea came out in almost a whine. He couldn't stand to see his brother like this.

“Nadad?”

“Yes, Fee?”

“I don't want to go back to my chambers tonight.” Fili's voice sounded hollow. Kili understood. They may have been princes, but they were born in exile. They had very little growing up in the Blue Mountains, and had shared a room for most of their childhood. They had always been together, their entire lives, inseparable. First in Ered Luin, and then on the quest. It had been hard for Kili to adjust to having his own chambers after reclaiming the Lonely Mountain (giving an ironic twist to its name). Fili had not had that problem; he had almost immediately started sharing his chambers with his little human Ranger after reclaiming Erebor. That meant he had never really slept alone.

“You can sleep on the couch, Fee. You're always welcome.”

“Thank you, Nadad.”

That night Kili lay in bed thinking about his brother and the woman he had come to regard almost as a sister, and wondering about the nature of inter-species relationships. That naturally led his thoughts to Tauriel, and what his flame-haired beauty had given up to come to his rescue in Laketown, what she continued to give up in order to be with him. He resolved that the next time he saw her, he would make sure that she knew just how very grateful he was, and just how much she meant to him.

~000~

_Three Years Later …_

Fili sighed, rubbing his eyes as he pulled his attention from the never-ending pile of paperwork in front of him. The duties of a prince were never done. Fili laid back in his chair, staring in the heart of the flame of the single candle that sat on his desk. Absentmindedly he fingered the Moljnir-engraved bead he still wore at the end of his braids, despite Thorin's protests, and thought about the events of the last three years.

If one good thing had come from Moira being sent away, it was that it eventually cleared a path for his brother to be with Tauriel. Dis had arrived at the Mountain a few weeks after that fateful hunting trip, expecting to meet her eldest son's beloved. Gossip spreads like wildfire, after all, and word had reached her ears that the golden Prince of Erebor was in love with a human Ranger and even sharing his chambers with her, as if they were already man and wife. Instead she found a depressed Fili, a angry Thorin, and a Kili who just didn't know how to fix it. Thorin had expected that with the human gone, eventually Fili would move on and find a find young Darrowdam to lavish his affections on. Thorin had never believed that Mahal would ordain for a Prince of Durin's One to be of Manfolk, after all. But as the months had passed and Fili's depression showed no sign of waning, Thorin had began to worry he had made the wrong decision, although he would tell that to no one. Fili continued to perform all his duties as the Heir of Durin admirably, but there was no joy in his eyes or mirth in his voice anymore. After two years even Thorin had to admit that he had been wrong, that Moira had been no mere dalliance, that she had indeed been Fili's One. By then it was too late, she was lost in the wilds of Middle-Earth somewhere.

Having seen the change in her eldest son that came from being deprived of his One, when Kili was discovered sneaking off to meet Tauriel, Dis became the strongest supporter of their love. She had matched Thorin in every screaming match, decibel for decibel, even throwing a nearby ax at the flustered King during one particularly heated argument. The fact that he dodged it so well clearly showed that this wasn't the first time she had done that, although Fili only remembered actually seeing her this angry at her brother a couple of times. It turned out that the King Under the Mountain was no match for his enraged sister, and he crumbled under her female wrath, finally allowing Tauriel not only entrance to the Mountain but a place in their family. Now, Tauriel wore her own dwarven courtship braids, a truly unique sight. Human-Dwarf couplings were rare, but not unheard of. Their race was 70% male, after all, and some of the Dwarf settlements that had closer ties to Manfolk ended up with some of the Dwarven males marrying human women. But for a Dwarf and an _ELF_ to fall in love, well, that had never happened in the entire history of Middle-Earth.

Thorin still grumbled and griped about neither of his heirs being Dwarf enough to fall for one of their own, but he would be quickly silenced by a glare from his formidable sister, and sometimes a comment that Thorin was still young enough to find a Darrowdam and sire more princes if he was really bothered so much. Fili was grateful for his mother's support of Kili and Tauriel's relationship. He had no wish for history to repeat itself. His greatest fear was that Tauriel would feel unwelcome and give up, leaving Kili a broken shell, to suffer as he had. Fili didn't want that for his brother. Kili deserved all the love and happiness that the Valar wished to bestow on him, even if it came packaged in the form of a She-Elf.

Fili still distrusted Elves. But in his mind, Tauriel wasn't an Elf. She was the woman his brother loved. That was enough for him. Sometimes she became exasperated that he had come to accept her but still carried a distrust for her kin, but that was never going to change. Accepting her as 'not-really-an-Elf' was the best he could do. _And really, she should be grateful I can even do that_ , Fili mused. Fili still carried a particular burning hatred for her former King, for what Thranduil had threatened to do to Moira while they were imprisoned in the Woodland Realm's cells. Even if it had been a (mostly) empty threat, Fili would never forget it. Then again, Tauriel's kin had never forgiven her. While the Elves in Rivendell were more forgiving, the Mirkwood Elves wanted nothing to do with her for falling for a Dwarf. Tauriel was no longer an Elf in their eyes, either. She was an exile, and it was the other Elves' hatred for her, along with her devotion to their younger prince, that had led to _most_ of the Dwarves' grudging tolerance, if not true acceptance, of her presence in their halls.

Every day, Fili wondered where Moira was, if she was safe, if she was happy. She had likely returned to her life as a Ranger when she left. Although she was a skilled fighter, a Ranger's life was always fraught with danger. When a trader or wanderer from the West or the North came to Dale or Erebor, Fili made special care to listen to their reports for any clue of Moira's whereabouts, or if she was even alive. Fili had even had Nori send some of his spy network to try to find some sign of her. Nothing. Some days he feared the worst. Some days he was sure that she was just deep in the wild, in the solitude she treasured. Most days he just missed her.

Most of all, he wondered if Moira had moved on from him. He knew that Menfolk did not love as Dwarves did, that they could fall in love many times, and even with more than one person at a time. The letter she had left in their chambers (he still thought of them as 'their' chambers) had been rife with those assumptions. “You'll fall in love again,” the letter had promised him. “It'll hurt for a while, but you will get over me. You'll forget about me. You'll find some honorable Darrowdam that can give you true sons, and you'll be happy.”

She didn't understand. It was his fault, too, for not explaining to her. He had never realized the vast chasm of cultural difference between them. He had never explained what a “One” was, and what it meant. It had never occurred to him that he would need to. Because Dwarves only married once, there was an assumption among the Men of Middle-Earth that Dwarves were only sexual with their One, but that wasn't true. Dwarves were a lusty race and had many dalliances before finding their love, and many Dwarves never did find their One. But if they did, then that was it for them. They would never again be with another, even for a night. All their heart and soul would eternally long for their other half, as Mahal had forged them to be.

Maybe if he had told her this, if he had explained better, she wouldn't have left. 

 

You took it with you when you left  
These scars are just a trace  
Now it wanders lost and wounded  
This heart that I misplaced

Where are you now? Are you lost?  
Will I find you again?  
Are you alone? Are you afraid?  
Are you searching for me?

Why did you go? I had to stay  
Now I'm reaching for you  
Will you wait? Will you wait?  
Will I see you again?  
\-- Hymn for the Missing by Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Man, Fili is such a good-hearted Dwarf! It was kind of hard to write this chapter and put him through such torment, but I'll bring them back together eventually, I swear! So, could the nightmares getting worse be a sign of what Elrond warned Gandalf about? :: waggles eyebrows ::  
> Also, I don't know how long it would actually take for Dis to travel from the Blue Mountains to the Lonely Mountain, but this fic is starts about three months after Erebor is reclaimed (Durin's Day is near or on the first day of autumn and this fic started around say Novemberish, if they have the same months as us in Middle-Earth, which I'm not sure about). So for reasons of writing I'm saying it takes three-four months to travel from Ered Luin to Erebor.


	11. Outside Mirkwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty Smut Smut. Like super smutty. But it's also got important info so you can't really skip the entire chapter. You can skim over the smutty bits til you get to the page break if you _really_ want to.
> 
> And yes, I know I said that I'm posting these slowly unless I get comments. Looks like I lied. I'm not only obsessive, I have no life whatsoevar. So sue me. Actually, don't. I don't have anything for you to take. Instead, enjoy the story and the smut and leave me comments if you want me to continue, because each review increases my motivation to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really glad that I'm interspersing the flashback chapters with the present-day ones. I really needed to write this after I was so mean to Fili in the last chapter!  
> Máni is the Viking God of the moon (the Vikings have a moon-God and a sun-Goddess, instead of the other way around)  
>  **Khuzdul Words:**  
>  Âzyungâl = lover

_while still on the quest, the day after Beorn's house ..._

When the Company had reached Mirkwood and turned Beorn's ponies loose, it was only and hour or so before dark. On Gandalf's advice (before he galloped off again doing whatever wizard business it is that wizards do), they decided that it would be safer to attempt to cross the forest during the daytime. So camp was made, much to relief of everyone. No one was looking forward to entering the Woodland Realm, but doubly so at night. Thorin assigned Fili first watch and Moira last watch, an obvious attempt to keep them apart. So when Bofur shook her awake, she automatically reached for her sword, thinking they were under attack.

“No, lass, nothing's wrong. Shh, don't wake Thorin.”

“Wha?” Moira was still not quite awake. “Then why are you up? It's Fili's watch.”

“Not anymore.” Bofur grinned at her mischievously. “I took it for him.”

Moira thought she was catching on. “And?”

“And Ori is taking the last watch for you. Kili has middle watch, so he won't tell.” Bofur was grinning. _Oh boy. Thorin has his work cut out for him._

Moira looked around the camp and saw that Fili was nowhere in sight. “Does that mean ….” her question drifted off.

“Yup. He's back there,” Bofur jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “a good distance away.” At that he winked, and Moira cursed herself for not being able to control the blush that crept over her face. She was Viking, Godsdammit. Vikings shouldn't blush. She looked up at the sky, noting that the moon was quite high. It was already late.

“Sorry I took so long to wake you lass, but I had to make sure Thorin was asleep for this to work.” She nodded mutely. The whole Company knew about the king-in-exile's insomnia.

“Bofur, why are you doing this? Defying Thorin?”

“I guess I've always been a romantic at heart, lass.”

_Oh sweet Gods of Asgard, this is a terrible, terrible idea._

“Bofur?”

“Yes, lass?”

“Do you think Fili and I really have a chance?” Moira's voice was soft. When she saw the confused look on the kindly Dwarf's face, she clarified. “With him being a prince, I mean.” She didn't say more. Bofur was a miner from a lower-class Dwarven family who had joined the Company as much to seek his fortune as out of loyalty to Thorin. She knew he understood her concerns. He smiled softly and patted her shoulder.

“Like I said, I've always been a romantic. And I can see the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him. I'd have ta be blind not to.”

Moira nodded, and then, slowly, the rational part of her mind protesting, stood up and rolled her bedroll up. Facing down Azog had made everything so real, made her realize how close to death she was. Death may not be the end of her existence, but it would mean the end of being in Middle-Earth, and of any chance of ever being with Fili. After the escape on the eagles and still having to run, AGAIN, she had finally given in to what she wanted. To Fili. Now the whole Company knew. She should be more embarrassed about that, but somehow, she wasn't. Thorin was trying to keep them apart, and apparently the rest of the Company was conspiring to keep them together. Or, at least Bofur, Kili, and Ori.

Suddenly she was nervous. She looked down at herself. Her clothes were dirty and there was a tear was a on the left side of her tunic that she had not had time to repair yet. She ran her fingers through her dark hair, finding it was a tangled mess. _Dammit, I should have kept cutting it_. None of that had mattered last night, but last night hadn't been planned.

“Bofur, do I look okay?”

He chuckled. “Ya look ravishing, darlin', and I'm sure Fili will agree.”

She lifted her arms. “Do I smell?” She asked worriedly. Her clothes hadn't been washed in weeks. Then again, neither had any of the other members of the Company.

_This is stupid. I already slept with him. _Moira thought to herself, but she couldn't help it.__

____  
Bofur full out laughed now. “Yer fine, lassie. Yer beautiful, ya clothes are fine, ya smell better than a rose, and he won't care about yer hair. Well, he might care about the hair, but I'm sure he'll brush and braid it for ya.” He winked at her again. “Lass, _go to him_.”

She wasn't sure if she could manage to say anything, so she just nodded. She belted her sword around her waist (just in case), and carried her bedroll under her arm. She left her pack in camp, and trudged into the blackness beyond, heading in the direction Bofur had indicated. After she had gone a good distance, the light of the camp fire retreating behind her, she began to regret not taking a torch with her. The moon was full, thankfully, and Máni's light gave her enough illumination to know where to put her feet without tripping. She glanced up at the moon's face and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. She came to some scrubby bushes (there were no trees this close to the cursed forest that were not a part of Mirkwood), and walked carefully past them. They wanted privacy, but not to be too close to that accursed forest. She found a little clearing, surrounded on three sides by scraggly shrub-like bushes almost as tall as her. Several of them were Fili's height.

 _Fili_. Fili was in the middle of the clearing, where he had set up his bedroll and some extra blankets – _where did he get extra blankets?_ – next to an unusually large rock, which he had set a few candles on top of to burn. He didn't see her at first, giving Moira a moment to admire him. The moonlight made his golden hair gleam a creamy color, like warm butter. Gods she loved his beautiful hair. He was fussing over the bedding right now, trying to fluff the blankets up and make them soft enough, she assumed. The action remind Moira of Bilbo, and the thought caused a laugh to raise in her throat. The noise caught his attention, and he turned to look at her, his unbelievable blue eyes lighting up at seeing her.

“Hi.” was all she could say.

He grinned at her, a smile wider and brighter than usual, an expression of pure joy at seeing her there. “Good evening, fair maiden.”

Moira was at war with herself. The rational part of her was yelling at her for her foolishness, the part that was still Viking told her to throw him down and take him right there, the part that feared being hurt again wanted to bolt and run far, far, away, and the girlish part, the part that Fili awakened in her so easily, that made her feel young and almost carefree again, was just afraid of disappointing him. The internal battle led to her just standing there awkwardly, bedroll tucked under her arm, chewing her lip in nervousness.

Fili noticed, and he made his way over to her slowly. Moira didn't bolt, like she would have once. He took her free hand gently in his and raised it to his lips, his sparkling blue eyes never leaving hers. “Thank you for coming,” He murmured earnestly, just before placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. _Oh, Odin help me, I want this. I want him._

She didn't fight him when he stretched upwards to kiss her, long and slow, his tongue darting between her lips teasingly and then retreating. He tasted of coffee and wood smoke, a taste she hadn't remembered from their kiss in Rivendell. She made up her mind and kissed him back, bending over a little to make it easier, and dropping the bedroll to fling both of her arms around his neck as she did so. He chuckled into her mouth at that, continuing to kiss her.

When he finally pulled away, she was breathless. His eyes were dancing, and she smiled down at him. “I needed that.” She whispered.

“You'll get far more tonight,” he promised her, bending down to pick up her bedroll for her. Placing his hand on her elbow, he guided her to a makeshift bed he had made. He opened her bedroll and laid it down on top of the other blankets he had brought. There were a few candles burning on the top of the rock that would serve as their headboard tonight, but with the full moon the clearing was more than illuminated anyway. Moira unbuckled her belt, dropping the sword beside their camp bed, and took off her leather boots.

Before she could change her mind, she sat down on the bed and pulled Fili along with her. She drew him into another searing kiss, and moved to lay down, but was surprised when he pulled away, shaking his head. Still holding her hand, he was grinning wickedly as he placed his back against the rock and pulled her into his lap, her legs flung across him in a position reminiscent of riding side-saddle.

“Last night was far too fast,” He murmured into her ear, biting her earlobe. “Tonight, I want to go slow,” he moved his mouth to the spot below her ear, kissing there gently, “savor every moment.” He nipped her neck suddenly, drawing a yelp from Moira and making her squirm in his lap. He chuckled, the rumbling sound making a heat spread between her legs. He kissed her again, one large hand on the small of her back, the other caressing her legs through her leggings, running up and down slowly. His lips worked on hers, his short beard scratching her face wonderfully, while his hands left trails of fire all over her body. Moira was grasping Fili's neck as she kissed him back passionately, holding his full lips to hers as their tongues battled for dominance.

Eventually Fili's hands went to her gray tunic. She lifted her arms to help him, and he slipped it off of her easily, leaving her in the form-fitting green bodice she wore beneath. The laces at the front were already partially undone, revealing some of the cleavage beneath, and his eyes took it all in greedily. He started to kiss his way down her neck, nipping, licking, and sucking as he went. Everything he did to her ripped moans from her lips and caused her to squirm in his lap, rubbing her ass against his growing hardness. His lips were so warm, putting off that signature dwarven heat; his beard scratched and prickled her over-sensitive flesh deliciously; those magnificent braided mustache braids tickling and the cool beads cooling her skin. When he finally got to the laces of her bodice, he planted a kiss between her cleavage, tongue darting out to lick the spot, and then veered back up. When Moira mewled in disappointment, he just chuckled again and continued with his torturous journey.

His hands were holding her around the waist now, and Moira had noticed his breath hitch when she squirmed. If he was gonna torture her, she would do the same to him. When he got up to her collarbone and ran his tongue along it, she gasped and buried her hands in his golden hair, pulling slightly as she squirmed a little harder than she had to. He growled, and bit down again, sucking hard this time, wanting to mark her as his. “F-Fili,” The moan that came from her was so wanton, so full of need, that Fili couldn't help but groan in response. He claimed her lips again, hungrily this time, insistently. Her lips parted instantly for him, and he eagerly took the invitation, slipping his tongue inside to explore her mouth. As her tongue met his, her hands left his hair and slid down his neck to slide under his coat. She wanted to touch his skin, but was frustrated to find layer after layer of clothes.

“Fili,” she pleaded, tugging at his fur coat, “too many layers!”

He laughed at her, a throaty chuckle. “My, my, somebody's eager!”

She glared at him. “You've been teasing me for _months_ , what do you expect?”

“You could've given in sooner.”  


She glared for a moment, before resorting to pleading. “Please, Fili. I need to _see_ you.

He chuckled again. “When you put it like that, how can I refuse?” He easily picked her up, both hands holding either side of her buttocks for a moment as he moved her to be the one with her back against the rock. Rolling onto his knees, he hovered over her for a moment, placing another kiss on her mouth, nibbling her lower lip for a moment, before he drew back. A small pile of weapons started to grow next to the bed, since they were stashed everywhere in his clothing. Moira looked at the pile in amusement. She thought she counted five daggers, plus the two throwing axes from his boots, and he was still pulling them out! Plus his twin swords, with lay on the side of their makeshift bed.

“Do you really need so many weapons? You're a one-Dwarf walking arsenal.” He chuckled, seemingly pleased by that statement.

“You know, if I hadn't already slept with you, I might think you were over-compensating for something.”

Fili slapped her leg with one of his fingerless leather gloves, frowning a mock-frown at her and trying to look serious, but his eyes were sparkling. Still on his knees, his smoldering blue eyes on hers, he started to strip, tortuously slow. The large fur coat was first thing to go. Under that was his large tunic, which needed to cover the chain-mail and wool shirt under it. Finally, a thin white linen undershirt was removed, and he crouched in front of her bare chested, one hand on his belt buckle. Moira couldn't help the moan the came from her as her eyes raked over his form. He was glorious. His startling blue eyes never left hers, and they were darkening with lust. His golden locks were tousled, his braids somewhat messy, surrounding his strong jaw like a halo. His mustache braids swayed slightly as his full lips curved into an incredibly sexy smirk at her moan, watching her eyes rake over his bare chest. He was stockily built, wide and well-muscled. They tensed and rippled under his skin with his every movement. His muscled chest was dusted with curly blonde chest hair, and a trail of golden fur led from his navel to his trousers, where the large bulge betrayed how turned on he was. When her eyes darted back up to his face, his smirk widened, and he lifted one eyebrow at her, clearly saying, _Like what you see?_ Oh, she did. She really did.

“Praise Mahal,” Moira breathed, one of her hands having unconsciously gone to her bodice, playing with the laces. 

“He really did make you Dwarves superior in every way.”

He preened at the praise.

“Are you _posing_?”

“You're the one who moaned just from me taking off my shirt.”

She didn't have a response for that, so she just snapped, “Get over here.”

He complied, dropping to all fours and crawling up her body with feline grace, his eyes burning into hers, every inch the predator. _Oh Gods, he knows EXACTLY what he is doing to me._ He slid all the way up her body to hover above her for a moment, his blonde hair falling over his bare shoulders and tickling her face, before capturing her lips with his. The kiss was hard, desperate, passionate, burning her with his heat as his tongue clashed against hers. Moira wrapped her arms around him as Fili placed one of his knees between her legs, and she gladly opened for him. With a groan he settled himself between her still-clothed thighs, his large hands going to gently knead her breasts through her bodice. Moira moaned, arcing herself into his hands, as he gently rubbed circles through the cloth. He pinched one of the nipples, making her gasp.

“ _Gods_ , Fili,” she moaned into his mouth. Moira was holding Fili to her, her hands running along all the strong, defined muscled of his back, coming back around to the front to caress his abdomen and chest. When Fili's mouth left hers to suck on her neck again, she trembled and clutched to his large biceps for dear life, gasping his name. All of his weight was on top of her, and from his position between her legs he ground himself into her core. Moira could feel his arousal and writhed against it desperately, wishing that their pants had already been removed. But Fili seemed to have his own ideas. He slowly kissed, licked, sucked and nipped his way downwards again, tortuously slow. His golden blonde hair trailed after him, tickling the flushed flesh he had just spent so much time torturing into over-sensitivity.

When Fili had reached her bodice, he smirked up at her, the expression alone causing heat to pool in her core, before grasping one of the laces in his teeth and jerking his head to the side savagely, ripping the laces free. The fleshy globes of her breasts spilled free from their confines, and Fili wasted no time in lavishing them with attention. He alternated between the barest butterfly kisses and tiny flicks of his pink tongue, to savagely attacking with lips and tongue and teeth, so that just as her body became used to one type of touch, he changed it up.

Moira gripped the blankets beneath her as Fili descended on her breasts, sucking, nipping, kissing one, while his other hand rolled the opposite nipple between his thumb and index fingers. The little peaks were already hard, and the callouses on his fingers from decades of training with and handling swords only stoked her flame higher. Through lidded eyes Moira watched Fili devour her, moaning and gasping. She wasn't sure when her hands had moved from her blankets to his hair, but they were fisted in his glorious mane now.

“Fili, I want to touch you!” She managed to gasp out somehow. She pulled him back up to her by his hair, and he greedily claimed her lips, almost roughly. Her hands left his hair to caress his face, his neck, running down the glorious curves of his muscled chest, around to his back to grip his shoulders. He was practically _burning_ with heat. If he'd been human, he would have been dying of a deadly fever, surely.

He propped himself up on one elbow as he continued to kiss her. His other large, warm hand slipped downwards to caress between her legs, and even with her leggings still between them, she bucked. He chuckled lowly, undoing the laces one-handed expertly, slipping inside her smallclothes with zero effort. His kiss slowed to a lazy pace as he teased her, stroking the small nest of dark curls that graced her public bone before sliding one thick digit down the crook where her leg met her torso, and then back up again, _so close_ to her heat, but refusing to touch her where she wanted it until she begged.

“Fili, _please_ ,” she gasped into his mouth, far sooner than he had expected. He grinned triumphantly and moved his hand to where she was craving his touch. She rose to meet him, and when his fingers skimmed her folds, they both shuddered simultaneously.

“Mahal, you're _soaking_ ,” he groaned into her neck. He wet his fingers with her juices, and lazily, slowly, he circled his thumb around her nub, savoring the feeling of her arcing her body against his. He teasingly slid his fingers up and down her folds again, relishing every gasp and moan that fell from her lips. He slipped a thick finger inside her, leaning to kiss her neck as he slowly pumped the finger in and out of her. He added another finger, bending them slightly to search for that little bundle of nerves within her. Moira gasped and shuddered, feeling herself stretch around him. The heat within her was building to unbearable levels. Fili added a third finger, his thumb caressing her clit as he slid in and out of her core. He continued to kiss and nibble all along her neck as he did so, and his long hair trailing along Moira's body as he moved tickled in a deliciously arousing way. He kissed his way downward, taking one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking as his fingers continued to fuck her. To his delight she started to moan his name, and the moans became louder and her eyes were squeezed shut now as the waves of pleasure built to a crescendo

“That's it, lass,” Fili whispered hoarsely when he started to feel her walls contract around him as he speed up the pace, “Come for me, love.” The lust in his voice was the final straw, and something within Moira swelled and snapped, the waves of pleasure taking her as Fili continued to thrust his thick digits in and out of her as her body shuddered and heaved, his burning blue eyes taking in every detail of her face as her orgasm took her, her cheeks flushed, eyes closed, lids fluttering, lips parted and swollen from kissing, moans of ecstasy ripping from those dark pink lips. While she was still riding the little after-shocks of pleasure, her brain hazy, he lent down to take her lips in a passionate kiss.

When he pulled away she was still breathless. Her eyes were open now, the dark chocolate orbs gazing up at him, looking dazed. She gulped, as if trying to learn how to breath again. “That was amazing,” she smiled up at him. _Neither of us is even completely naked yet ..._

“I hope you're not too tired yet.” he nipped at her neck. “I have so much more planned for tonight.”

“Oh, we _better not_ be done!” she laughed, her hands going to his belt and unbuckling it, drawing it out and tossing it aside. Fili made quick work of her leggings, tugging the pants and smallclothes down her legs as she lifted her hips to help him, and they were added to the growing pile of clothes, so that now she was completely naked before him. He took a moment to admire her. The night before had been hurried, since it had been in Beorn's house. With 12 other sleeping Dwarves, a Hobbit, and wizard nearby that they had been fearful of waking, neither of them had fully disrobed their first time together. But this time, they would fully see each other, and take their time. Fili ran a hand down her taut belly, taking in every inch of her with his eyes, his fingers running down the tight muscle of her thighs as she shivered at his touch. _Mahal, she's perfect._

Moira sat up to kiss Fili as her hands went to cup his length from outside his leather trousers. He groaned into her mouth and bucked into her hand as she rubbed him. She smiled. It was nice to know she could effect him as much as he did her. She pulled his lower lip into her mouth as she kissed him, sucking it playfully, as both hands went to the laces of his trousers. She pulled the laces out, and his manhood sprang free. She looked down and her eyes widened a little. Even though she had already slept with him, and knew he was quite large, she was surprised to actually _see_ the size of him, his girth much wider than average. Fili chuckled at her expression, and she shivered. _Gods, just his voice turns me on so much!_ She wrapped her hand around his manhood, looking into his smoldering eyes, and began to pump him, wanting to give him the same pleasure he had just given her. His blue eyes glazed. She licked her lips, watching his face. _Fuck, he's hot._ She delighted in the feeling of him jerking into her palm, his hips bucking against her, his body begging for more. She picked up the tempo, but just as his breathing was starting to get ragged, he pulled away from her.

“No, not yet,” Fili was struggling to get his breathing under control. Moira just looked at him, confused, afraid she had done something wrong. He must have seen it in her eyes, because he answered her question without her needing to ask it.

“I want to finish inside you, not in your hand,” He leaned in to kiss her again and she eagerly met his questing lips. “And I've yet to taste you, lass,” he purred. A soft moan escaped her as she realized what he wanted to do to her, and Fili growled in response. He took the lead, pushing her insistently back to the blankets, smiling down mischievously. Once again he went so slowly Moira thought she'd go mad from anticipation. He kissed and licked and caressed his way down her body, his hair trailing after him. Moira knew it couldn't really have been that long, but it felt like hours before he finally reached the apex of her thighs. By the time he did, she was panting, her entire body quivering, aching for him. Fili loved it, seeing her completely in his power like this. He blew on her sex, causing a gasp to fall from her lips and her hips to jerk upwards. He placed a strong hand on her hip, pinning her down easily. A whine was ripped from Moira's throat. She was desperate for contact.

“Fili, please!”

He chuckled lowly, his sapphire eyes smoldering. “Patience, love, patience,”

Moira propped herself up on her elbows to gaze down at him. Still keeping her hips pinned with one hand, he smirked wickedly at her, before lowing his mouth to her core and sweeping his tongue up her swollen folds, lapping at the evidence of her arousal. Moira didn't recognize the mewling sound that came from her throat as Fili licked her, but she _did_ feel his grin against her sex, his eyes never leaving hers. Fili's talented tongue came up to swirl around her clit, before sweeping back down her folds again. Moira was seeing stars, not aware of anything in the world but Fili's hands and mouth on her body. When she didn't think she could take any more teasing, Fili finally closed his luscious full lips around her nubbin, sucking hard, running his teeth gently over the bundle of nerves, while his hand ran up and down his cock.

Moira's hands were soon buried in his hair again, tugging gently as Fili pleasured her, and himself, and it was driving him close to the edge. Fili released the hand that had been pining her hip down, so that he could slip two fingers inside her core, as he sucked at her clit, listening to her breathy moans, while still pumping himself. He crooked his fingers again as his slowly pumped them in and out of her, in time with the strokes on his manhood, as his tongue swirled her clit, slashing across the sensitive bud, then around it. 

“Y-yes, oh F-Fili, that's it,” she moaned, breathlessly. He felt her body shuddering and redoubled his efforts. Moira was in ecstasy. Fili _really_ knew what he was doing. Every touch of his fingers, lips, and tongue just drove her heat higher, and reduced her body to a quivering, moaning mess. Those beautiful, magnificent mustache braids were only heightening the experience in a way she had not thought possible. With his face buried in her sex, his beard pleasantly scratching the sensitive flesh of her thighs, the braids just added to the sensations, tickling where her legs met her body, the metal beads cooling her heated skin. When he started to hum, the vibration was the last straw, and she finally came undone, screaming his name this time, her hands tightening in his hair almost painfully as her body bucked again his fingers and mouth. Not that he minded.

Moira was panting from the force of her orgasm, watching him with her beautiful brown eyes lidded and dazed. It pleased Fili immensely to know he had been the one to do that to her. As she rode the after-shocks, Fili planted butterfly kisses on the taut muscle of her stomach. Her fingers finally loosened in his hair, dropping to his chin, and drawing him gently up to her face. When she started to lick herself off of his beard, Fili thought he'd explode right there. “ _Mahal_ ,” he groaned, and she giggled.

He kissed her then, slipping his tongue between her parted lips to plunder her mouth, letting her fully taste herself as he positioned himself between her legs. He rubbed the head of his cock to her sopping wet folds, pulling back from the kiss to watch her face as he slowly dragged his manhood along her core. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, staring down into her pleasure-drugged face.

“You, Fili, I want you.” She arched into him, trying to draw him to her, but Fili held her down again, rubbing the head of his weeping cock against her clit and watching her shudder. Mahal, he wanted to take her. But not just yet. He wanted to hear her say it first. He wanted her to beg for him.

“Say it.” he ground out. “More specific.”

“Take me, Fili. I want you to fuck me!”

“Beg.” His voice was commanding, and it made Moira even wetter.

Under any other circumstances, she might have been too proud, but right now, she didn't hesitate. “Please, Fili, please, _please_ fuck me! Fuck me hard!”

“At your service,” He growled, and he sheathed himself inside her heat in one smooth motion. He didn't give her any time to adjust, grabbing her hips and starting a punishing pace right away, fucking her hard and fast, just as she had asked. After months of teasing and hours of foreplay, she was more than ready. She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking them and pressing one of her heels into the small of his back, encouraging him to fuck her harder. Her hands were clutching his shoulders desperately, clinging to him with everything she had.

“Mahal, you are _so tight_ ,” he gasped, throwing his head back.

“Fili, yes, Gods, Fili, fuck me,” she murmured as he slid steadily in and out of her. Fili moved one of his hands to her apex, the place where they were joined, stroking her clit in time with his thrusts. In almost no time at all, Fili could feel her body start to tense around him, and her words changed to breathy, strangled-sounding moans. He bent to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking hard, running his teeth along the pert peak, as he continued to thrust deep inside her. When her orgasm overtook her, it was all Fili could do not to topple over that cliff with her. He moved back up to kiss her, and she bit his neck instead, which proved his undoing. Fili had meant to hold on longer, but with her walls clamping around his manhood, and now her teeth and tongue along his pulse, he couldn't take it any longer. He slammed into her, holding her hips still as he roared his release, and shuddering, collapsed on top of her, his head buried in the crook of her neck. She stroked his hair, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and Fili could swear he could _hear_ the smirk in her voice. Well, he supposed she had earned it. That was when Fili realized that although she was fully unclothed, he was still wearing his trousers.

They lay like that for some time, his softened manhood still inside her, her fingers running through his hair as he nuzzled her neck. Neither of them spoke in anything other than contented sighs. At some point, he realized she seemed to be having trouble breathing from his heavy weight on top of her. He (somewhat regretfully) slipped out of her, kissing her collarbone as he did so, and settled beside her, taking a moment to finally kick off his pants entirely. Moira immediately snuggled into his side when he lay down, and Fili wrapped his strong arm around her. He was grateful, actually. A part of him had been afraid that as soon as she had taken her pleasure, her fear of love would return and she would run back to camp. He was glad she wanted to still be near him, even after he had satisfied her so thoroughly.

Moira peppered soft kisses across his chest in a slow, lazy way. The sensation, along with her cooler-than-a-Dwarf's body temperature pressed against him, started to relight the fire of his forge, although if she had only lain with human males, Fili was certain she believed the night to be over. When Moira kissed him again, her mouth was gentle, but his desire rising again had him responding hungrily, his hand sweeping down her back, stroking her skin, to finally squeeze her pert buttock. Fili pressed her to him, and when she felt his hardness, she gasped in surprise. “Fili, are you … ? Already?” Oh, Mahal, how he loved that little gasp, and the look of awe that suddenly dawned on her face. He grinned wolfishly, and captured her lips again. It was time to teach his little human Ranger just what Dwarven stamina meant.

~000~

Moira was exhausted, pleasantly worn out. Fili had been true to his word. This was not the hurried coupling they had before, worried about getting caught by the others. No, Fili had spent hours worshiping her, gently kissing and touching and caressing and licking every part of her body until she was begging to be taken hard and fast, at which point he had complied with her demands. More than once. Now, thoroughly worn out by her more-than-human lover, she lay with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, while Fili worked his fingers through her tangles.

“If I had ale right now, I'd have to raise a glass to dwarven stamina.” Fili chuckled into her hair at her comment

“Moira?” Fili's voice was soft, but from her position with her head on his chest, she could feel the rumbles his voice created deep in his chest.

“Hmm?”

“May I brush your hair?” He sounded nervous. “It's … pretty tangled.” _I wonder if messing with hair is more meaningful than sex in Dwarven culture?_

“Yeah, there's a reason I usually try to keep it short. It's really thick and hard to manage.”

“I promise to be gentle and careful. I won't hurt you.” He hesitated. “And I could braid it for you, if you like, which would keep it out of your way and make it manageable.” Moira couldn't help but smile. _Bofur called that one_.

“Okay.”

Fili kissed the top of Moira's head, before gently moving her so he could go get a brush from his pack beside their “bed” (treating her to a wonderful view of his well-sculpted backside in the process). When he returned, he sat with his back up to the rock and drew her up flush against his broad chest, settling her between his legs. When he noticed her shiver a little from the cool night air, Fili reached to the pile of their discarded clothes and draped his fur coat over her naked form.  


“Thank you,” she murmured. He acknowledged her not in words, but with a nod and a gentle kiss to her temple, before setting about to his work. Yet again, he was true to his word, and despite the awful tangles, he never pulled hard enough to hurt, not once. Fili's fur coat was draped around her front, hiding her nakedness from the rest of the world, and she was warmed by the incredible heat his body was giving off, seeping into her and warding off the chill. She snuggled deeper into his chest. Despite what she knew was to come, despite that tomorrow they would have to face the spiders and the Elves of Mirkwood, right now, she was more content than she had felt in a long, long time.

When the brushing was done, Fili started to braid her dark hair, and Moira was surprised at how good it felt to have his skilled fingers working through her hair and running over her scalp. Fili started to hum as he worked, and the vibration added another pleasant sensation to the experience. She couldn't help the sigh that came from her. Fili smiled to himself as he finished her braids, two binding her hair away from her face, and capped them with beads from his own hair.

“Âzyungâl,” he breathed into her ear. “My Âzyungâl.

Moira didn't know what the Khuzdul word meant, but she could guess. She turned her head to see him watching for her reaction, and she kissed his bearded lips. His hands slipped under the coat to encircle her waist as he kissed her back, slowly, gently. When the kiss broke apart, she smiled at him for a moment before laying her head back on his chest. He placed his chin on the top of her head, holding her close, completely enveloping Moira in the warmth and safety of his embrace.

“Moira?”

“Hmm?” She was beginning to feel drowsy and could easily drift off to sleep in his arms this way.

“I love you.” Fili's confession woke her back up fully. When he felt her body stiffen, Fili hurried to continue, “You don't have to respond in kind, if you aren't ready to. I would never rush you. But I had to say it.”

 _Oh, Gods, what do I do now?_ Moira twisted around to look at him, her hands settling into their (already familiar) position on his neck. She gazed into his blue eyes, chewing on her lip, considering. Fili tensed, waiting, giving her time to think as he watched her warily. _It's too late_ , Moira thought, there's nothing for it now.

“I love you, too, Fili.” She said softly, and watched as his expression changed from one of worry to joy. “I have for a while. You were right, all those months ago, when you said I was scared to love again. Very un-Viking of me, really, for a shieldmaiden to be so terrified of her own heart.”

Fili's bearded lips tugged into a smile, and his large hand came up to gently cradle her chin, drawing her to him for another kiss. This one seemed to go on forever, and Moira almost expected it to turned heated and become another love-making session, but it didn't. Instead, he again moved her around, settling her between his legs and against his chest once more. They sat in comfortable, satisfied silence for a time, staring up at the moon, before Fili broke the stillness.

“May I ask you a question, lass?”

“Shoot.” When he didn't ask, she realized what she had said and clarified, “That means go ahead.”

“Ah.” Fili chuckled. She loved that sound. “Do you realize that you go back and forth between referring to the Vikings as your own people, and as a separate one?”

Oh, but he _was_ observant. He knew there was more to her story, and he was asking for it now. It hurt her heart to think that she could never tell him all of it, but there was no way around that. She pushed it aside.

“I suppose I still think of myself as Viking. I started to think of myself as Viking long before Sven and I became involved.” She could have left it at that – she _should_ have left it at that. But she felt the need to continue. “Being a Viking isn't just a matter of birth. Vikings can be made. A person can choose to become Viking, if the community chooses them and they are accepted. One of the warriors I fought with was in love with a former slave, and he even trained her to fight. Aslaug freed her so that they could be together.” She thought carefully about how much she could tell him without betraying too much. Fili waited patiently for her to continue. “The culture is beautiful in it's simplicity. If you act Viking, and are accepted by Vikings, than you are Viking. Honor the Gods, love your woman,” she patted his thigh, “or man. Defend your kin. And they are fierce in sticking to that code.” Her fingers went to the wooden Thor's Hammer necklace that dangled between her breasts. “In the temple at Uppsala, their most sacred site, before the Old Gods, I was officially blooded. I cut my hand, offering my life blood to the Allfather, to Odin, and dedicated my worship to Him, forsaking the God of my mother's people. Ever since, I have always worn a Mjolnir pendant, Thor's Hammer, the symbol of the faith of Asgard. I may never be able to return to Norway, and I no longer use my Viking name, but I guess in my heart of hearts, I will always consider myself Viking.”

Moira fell silent.

“The words you use, the places you talk about …..”

 _Here it comes_.

“Just how far away is Norway?”

 _Wow_. He didn't directly ask if she came from outside of Middle-Earth. He still wasn't pushing her too much. She'd been expecting that question for while, and she had an answer prepared, since there were supposed to be unknown continents besides Middle-Earth and Valinor in Arda. She still didn't look forward to having to use it, as Kili, Ori, and Bilbo would immediately be peppering her with questions about this 'other continent' if she had to use that excuse. Gandalf, too, may begin to suspect something, since it would be so unlikely for her to have ended up in Middle-Earth. Somehow, Fili seemed to sense her apprehension whenever conversation strayed dangerously close to the subject of her origins, and he respectfully let it slide.

“A very, very, very, _very_ long way away. Even if I wanted to return, I can't.” Moira tried but failed to keep the twinge of sadness and longing out of her voice. They continued to sit in silence, looking at the stars, until Fili asked another question.

“What was your Viking name?”

“Brenna. It means 'flaming'. It was a joke, referring to my temper.”

Thinking of her yelling at Elrond when they had reached Rivendell, Fili laughed. He kissed the back of her head, smiling into her hair and the brand-new braids he had put there. “It suits you.”

After a moment, Moira sighed. “As much as I'm enjoying this, we really should get back to camp and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day. Gandalf said this forest is cursed; we should be well-rested when we cross it.”

Fili groaned in disappointment, but agreed. 

 

~000~

It was still early and the camp was just beginning to wake up and prepare for the day. Thorin, often the first to wake, had taken in Moira's new braids with a look of disapproval, and just turned to stand outside the camp, hands behind his back, waiting for the others. Bofur had grinned and commented on her new hairstyle, which of course drew the eyes of everyone else in camp. Bilbo gave her a gentle smile. As the rest of the Dwarves woke up, a simple breakfast of porridge and berries foraged berries by Bilbo was handed to them. Moira's snares had failed to catch any wild game this close to Mirkwood.

“Why, dear brother, were you attacked by some wild beast in the night?” Kili gestured at the bite marks on Fili's neck and winked at Moira.

Fili laughed and grinned at her. “Indeed, I spent half the night wrestling a fierce wildcat into submission.”

Moira flushed and felt embarrassed at first, but decided to respond in kind. “If you think that's bad, you should see his back! It was a fierce beast, truly, but he fought well.” The brothers burst out laughing.

“Alright, that's enough!” Thorin's voice boomed. “We have no time for games. We must cross this accursed forest.”

Moira sighed a little at his tone. Fili wrapped an arm around her in comfort. And the Company prepared to cross the foreboding forest realm of Mirkwood.


	12. A Ranger's Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written an action scene, so please be kind! I hope it's okay.  
> Faron is Sindarian for “hunter”. During my research I found that most of the Dunedain gave their children Sindarian names, so I wanted to be true to want little Tolkien has told us about the Rangers.

_three years after leaving Erebor …._

Moira weaved between the trees, picking up speed as she ran. Her feet barely touched the ground as she flew towards her enemy, sword clutched in her hand. Her green cloak streamed behind her like a banner. Her hair, now long enough to reach halfway down her back, was kept tightly bound into a simple, single plait that also flew behind her to keep her cloak company. The Orc party was heading the other way, but those at the rear heard her approach and turned. Seeing her, their hideous faces twisted into a snarl/grin of delight at seeing something new to kill.

Tensing, she leapt, her arm bringing the sword down in a hard swing to clash against the first Orc's weapon with a loud _clang_. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she lashed out with a kick to his chest, which gave her an opening to plunge her sword into his heart. _One down_. Another Orc ran at her from her side, yelling something in that foul language of theirs. Moira simply ducked and took him down with a slice to his femoral artery, and then a stab to what she assumed was his kidney area before his body had hit the ground. Foul black blood sprayed in her face. Another rushed her from the side, a smaller Orc that looked to have Goblin blood. His attack was clumsy and he was dispatched quickly and easily.

An arrow landed near her feet. _SHIT. They have an archer._ Spotting him, she started to weave towards the archer, dodging blows from some Orcs as she went, taking down others, but not checking to make sure it was a killing blow. The archer had just made himself the priority. Moira dashed in a zig zag pattern as he continued to loose arrow after arrow in her direction. He wasn't a very good shot, thankfully (he even shot two of his own companions). He roared in frustration and dropped the bow as she neared, gashing his jagged teeth together and drawing two large, ugly, crude swords. _Two swords. Great._

Moira let instinct and her training take over, her body moving without her mind's consent or commentary, twisting and turning and whirling in a bloody dance. She managed to kill the archer, but lost her sword in the process. Drawing her twin daggers, she continued on, eagerly pressing her attack.

Battle was the closest to oblivion that she could come, other than sex, and it didn't carry the danger of falling in love and losing herself in another person that sex did. When she fought, her always-chattering mind was silenced, and there was nothing in the world but her and the enemy, a light waiting to be snuffed out. The forest rang with the sound of metal on metal and the roar of furious Orcs, until their shrill death cries echoed and faded, and all was silent in the trees once more.

Panting, Moira dropped to one knee. She attempted to wipe the foul-smelling black blood from her face, wiping some of it on the sleeve of her tunic. The rest merely smeared along her face, making her appear even more fierce. The movement made her aware of a sharp pain in her side, and she looked down to see blood seeping though the leather jerkin she wore over her tunic. _**FUCK.** When did that happen? _She hadn't even noticed. Moira poked at it gingerly. It looked bad, but she still barely felt it. She needed to find her sword and get back to the Ranger's camp, preferably before the adrenaline could wear off and she'd feel the pain for real.

~000~

“You took on over a dozen Orcs on your own? What were you thinking?!” Moira looked up from watching the healer bind her wounds. The older Ranger loomed over her, thanks to her sitting position on the cot, and he was fixing her with a stern expression. The dark gray cloak about his shoulders was bound with a silver six-pointed star, the symbol of the Dunedain. Many Rangers wore the star, for most were the remnants of the fallen northern kingdom of Arnor. Right now, her commander was not pleased with her. Her dark eyes met his hazel ones defiantly.

“I was thinking they needed to be dealt with, and I didn't have time to alert the other Rangers. There was a village directly in their path.”

Faron sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You aren't invincible, Moira.”

“Never said I was.”

“You've become increasingly reckless these past years. If that Orc's sword that struck a few inches to the right –”

“Does this conversation have a point?” Moira asked irritably. The healer was working hard to focus on the wound in Moira's side and ignore the confrontation happening right above her head. “The Orcs had to be dealt with, and I dealt with it.” The questioning was causing Moira to fell a red-hot anger burning in her chest, but she knew it was irrational, and struggled to push it down. Her answer still came out a little testy. Faron's hazel eyes narrowed at her tone.

“If you have a death-wish, I need to know. You could endanger the lives of your fellow Rangers.”

Moira laughed bitterly. A death-wish would do her no good. Death was no release for her. “I promise not to behave so recklessly when working with other Rangers. However, when on my own, I will make my own choices. I did not endanger anyone's life today but my own.”

“And if you had fallen? Leaving the Orc pack out there, and we with no idea? What then?” Moira knew he was right. But that knowledge only made her angrier. Not trusting herself to say anything without exploding, she bit her lip and met her commander with stony silence, looking away from him and at the cave wall beyond instead.

“Have you so little care for your own life, Moira?” The sternness in Faron's voice just a moment before was gone, and now it was soft, carrying a sadness hidden in the words. Moira shrugged, not answering or meeting the older Man's eyes. Even with his salt-and-pepper hair, he was older than he appeared, she knew. Most of the Rangers were Dunedain, and so gifted (or cursed) with longer life than the rest of the race of Man. He had seen more than his relatively youthful appearance portrayed.

“Are you being so protective because I'm a woman, or because I'm not Dunedain?” Moira asked, still looking away from him. “Many Rangers have taken on the same numbers as I just did, or more, and not been lectured for it.”

“Yes, Rangers I have known for decades. I know why they are here, and trust their reasons, and their abilities. And still, many do not live long. I have worked with you for nearly five years now, excepting the one year you disappeared. I owe you my life several times over. Yet I still do not know well. You do not allow me to, nor anyone. And I must know that I can trust all my Rangers, scattered as we are. So tell me: Why are you here?”

Moira sighed. She knew silence would get her nowhere with Faron. The younger Rangers called him the Fox of Arnor for a reason. She met his cunning hazel eyes. “Because I have nowhere else to go. And because I have skills that others don't, so I may as well use them to help protect the people of Middle-Earth.”

“And because you enjoying killing Orcs?”

“Is that a crime now?” The defiance was back in her voice, try to control it as she might.

“Are you sure those are the only reasons?” His eyes had dropped to her chest. Knowing that Faron wasn't the type to stare (most of the Dunedain were far too noble for that, no-matter what the local townsfolk may think), she followed his gaze. Her Mjolnir pendant had slipped out of her tunic while the healer was seeing to her wounds. Faron's gaze was fixed not on the pendant, but the beads that framed it. Fili's beads. They were obviously dwarven, but would he recognize courtship beads when he saw them?

Cursing, she put the necklace back in the hidden safety of her tunic. “My business is my own.” She also reached for her leather jerkin, feeling vulnerable and exposed and wanting to fully dress again as soon as the healer was done.

Faron sighed, running his hands through his chin-length hair. “As you wish.” He looked at the healer, who subtly shook her head. “When you've healed, I think you should join your Hobbit friend a little early this year.”

“Are you kicking me out?!”

He turned away from her. “In all honesty, I haven't decided yet. You always winter in the Shire. You should go there as soon as you are healed. Think about what you want this winter, and where you want to be. If you decide that you want to be more honest with me, you can find us in the spring.”

Faron's long strides carried him out the mouth of the cave that was serving as the temporarily camp for the small brigade of five Rangers that he commanded, as well as a few of their wives, which included the healer. He never spared Moira a backwards glance. The healer nodded at her and departed, promising to return to change the bandages. Moira sighed and laid back onto the cot, grimacing at the pain that stabbed through her as she did so. Perhaps Faron hoped she would come clean with him in the next few weeks as she healed, before she left for the Shire. She couldn't, obviously. Well, this arrangement was never going to last forever. Nothing did for her. _Except me._ She thought bitterly.

~000~

It was pouring down buckets of rain in Bree. Moira made her way to the Prancing Pony, her rusty green hood pulled up far over her head, shadowing her face. The innkeeper's face had broken into a tight, nervous smile upon seeing her, a muscle in his forehead twitching as he spoke. She paid it no mind, knowing very well the reputation that Rangers had in most parts. Moira saw to Nicki herself, only asking for directions to the stable. She got a quizzical look from innkeeper, as if he was confused. Again Moira ignored it. Others may see caring for their horse as a chore easily foisted off on others, but Moira treasured the small bonding moments she got with her brown mare, and wasn't about to give that up because she was wet and cold. After all, the mare was her only companion who never asked her questions. When Nicki was brushed, dried, and settled happily into a stall with fresh straw for bedding and oats and hay for her evening meal, Moira returned to the inn. She gratefully accepted a bowl of lamb stew and a tankard of ale and found an out-of-the-way corner where she could observe the rest of the room. As much as she wanted to sit near the fire, there were far too many people, both Man and Hobbit, crowded around the hearth for her to want to risk it. She was not comfortable in crowds. Experience had taught her that wariness of others was the safest position. She ate her meal in silence, sopping up the lamb stew with a hard, crusty bread. It really was quite good. When she had finished, she pulled out her pipe to smoke. She had never smoked before, but it was a habit she had picked up after the quest, when she had returned to the Rangers that first summer. The action, and most especially the smell, reminded her of Fili. That thought should make her sad, or angry, but she just found it comforting.

A gust of cold autumn wind hit her, and she looked to detect it's origin. The door had been blown open wide by a stubborn gust and was being wrestled closed one of the group of five who had just entered. The figures were about chest height on Moira, shorter than Men but taller than Hobbits. _Dwarves_. Good thing she was safely hidden away in her corner, where there was no chance of her being recognized. _Not that they are necessarily from Erebor_ , Moira thought. Moira's shock grew when the head of the party drew back the hood of his cloak, revealing by the sparsely furred face that _he_ was a _she_. The little group had her full attention now. The other four stuck closely to the female who was talking to the innkeeper, and although they all had the hoods of their cloaks up, Moira guessed from their behavior that they were all dams as well. Even across the crowded room, the smaller four (they were shorter than the leader of their party) seemed nervous. _Where are the Dwarf men? Why are five darrowdams traveling alone?_

Moira studied their leader as she spoke with the innkeeper. She was beautiful, and not just by Dwarven standards. She had long waves of raven-black hair, twisted into intricate braids, as was their custom. Her face was heart-shaped, her jaw strong, her lips full and plumb, her skin a pleasant olive coloring. Her chin was bare, like many darrowdams, but her dark hair grew from her sideburns to cover her cheeks, and they were grown long and braided and beaded like her hair. Her bright gray eyes betrayed a cleverness deep within them.

“I don't care if she has a beard, I'd fuck her.” Moira stiffened when she heard the loud comment coming from one of the groups of drunken Men, loud enough for the little cluster of dams to hear. She saw the dark-haired dam flinch, but ignore the comment. She gave the innkeeper a few coins, and then led the little group to the last empty table in the house, the other four surrounding her on all sides. Hoots and hollers and obscene suggestions assailed the women on all sides. Moira felt her now near-constant anger start to bubble up at seeing the way the dams were being treated as whores just because they weren't human (or Hobbit). When a hand reached out to try to fondle the leader, memories swam behind Moira's eyes and she nearly choked on the combination of rage on the darrowdam's behalf and her own fearful recollections. But before she could do anything about it, one of the other women had given the Man a swift punch to his nether regions before closing ranks again. The Man fell, and Moira tensed, ready if a bar-fight should break out. But instead his companions just laughed raucously at his misfortune.

The dams all sat themselves at the table, ignoring the ruckus around them as they talked among themselves. Soon the barmaid bought them their own bowls of stew and tankards of ale, and they settled in for their meal. But Moira's rage grew as the night passed, watching the increasingly inebriated human patrons hurl come-ons and abuse at the Darrowdams who were just trying to eat their supper in peace. When a portly man stumbled up to the table, swaying, and it soon become clear he wasn't going to take the polite 'no's that the Dwarven women gave him, Moira had seen enough.

“That's enough!” She was at his side quickly. Her stealth skills had gotten better in the last three years, and he had barely registered her presence. “I believe the ladies are doing quite alright without the _pleasure of your company.”_

__

“Who asked you, you –“ the drunken pig turned to her in anger, his sentence cut off when he realized who he was talking to.

She stood with her arms crossed, glowering up at the taller Man. “Yes?” she responded calmly. He didn't say anything, his tiny eyes bugging out of his head as his mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to come up with something to say.

“You should leave.” Her voice was hard and did not leave room for argument, but he was several pints past reason.

Anger flared in his drink-glazed eyes. “No _woman_ tells me what to do!” He took a clumsy swing at her, which Moira easily avoided by simply taking a step back. When he stumbled forward, she grabbed his arm, spun him around, and slammed his face onto the table. One of her hands held his ugly face to the wood, the other twisted his arm painfully behind his back.

“I thought I've warned you before.” Her tone was low and deadly. She twisted the arm behind his back harder, making him cry out in pain. “Take it somewhere else, or lose a hand this time.” When she released him, he stumbled away, casting fearful glances her way, as his friends laughed at him.

Moira turned to the table and bowed her head to the darrowdams. “I sincerely apologize on behalf of my race.” she spoke lowly. Moira was truly ashamed and fervently hoped that this was not the Dwarf women's first encounter with her species.

There were murmurs of thanks from around the table, and the Dwarf girl who appeared to be the youngest, a blonde with only a hint of stubble on her face, couldn't help but blurt out “How did you do that?”

Moira smiled at the dwarfling's eagerness. She didn't realize it, but her smile was brighter than it usually was. The young Dwarf reminded her of Kili, despite the difference in coloring and gender. “I'm a Ranger, and am somewhat known around here. The Rangers have a reputation, mostly undeserved, I assure you. But occasionally useful.”

“Would you care to join us, Lady …?” it was the leader who spoke this time, the one with the raven locks.

Moira bowed her head a little lower this time, in respect. “Thank you, but no. I have urgent business in the Shire tomorrow, and I must leave early. Although, if anyone else gives you trouble, I'm in room three. I'm always up for a fight, if you should require my services again.” She smiled thinly then and quickly took her leave.

 _I hope I don't regret that_. Moira thought to herself as she retreated to her room for the night. She didn't realize that during the altercation with the drunk, her necklace had fallen out the front of her tunic. All five pairs of dwarven eyes followed her every step of the way.

~000~

Moira breathed a sigh of relief as she crossed the borders of the Shire, some of the invisible weight she carried lifting from her knotted shoulders. She couldn't imagine anyone not feeling comfortable here, amid the rolling hills, babbling brooks, comfortable hobbit holes, and cheerful, simple Hobbits. Once upon a time, this would have been her ideal life. The Shire wasn't home (she had no home), but it was close. She always looked forward to returning here.

She made her way first to Farmer Maggot's house, where she paid the Maggot family to care for her mare over the winter. She still came often to see Nicki, and so besides Bilbo, the Maggots were the Hobbits she knew the best. They had been leery of her at first, like all Hobbits are of the Big Folk. Of course, the reputation of the Rangers hadn't helped at all. But the shine of gold had overcome their initial wariness, since they were all too happy to earn real money instead of trading for goods or services. Many of the poorer Hobbits in the Shire operated nearly completely on the barter system. And over her first winter, as she frequently visited to see Nicki, it was her love for the horse that seemed to have won over the lady of the house, since Moira clearly thought of her mare as more than a simple beast of burden. When Hazel Maggot had invited her to join them for afternoon tea the first time, Moira knew what a gesture it was and accepted it gladly.

As Moira walked down the path towards the Maggot homestead, leading Nicki by a rope tied to her bridle, she looked forward to seeing her friend. Life in the Shire was simple, and sometimes while she listened to the latest gossip that Hazel would share, or played with her many fauntlings, Moira could forget who she was for a while. The air was crisp and clear, cool, but not overly so. There wasn't a cloud in the bright blue skies, the leaves on the trees were in a riot of color, displaying all shades of gold and orange and yellow, and the smell of pumpkin pies baking drifted to her nose. Moira smiled. Autumn had always been her favorite season.

Hazel was in the side-yard of the little hobbit-hole, hanging the wash. “Mama!” the oldest of fauntlings squealed, upon seeing Moira, “'O'ra's here!” the girl couldn't yet pronounce Moira's name properly yet.

“Hello, Daisy!” Moira called to the eldest Maggot child as the golden-curled fauntling came racing down the walk to meet her, her four younger siblings toddling after her. Moira swept Daisy up in her arms and swung her around her head, the tiny Hobbit girl squealing in delight. The two boys and the twins, both girls as well, were at Moira's feet, begging for her attention as well. The Ranger grinned down at them. Nothing made you forget your problems like a gaggle of adorable fauntlings acting like you were the center of their world.

“Miss Moira, you're nearly a month earlier than we expected.” Gared Maggot grunted, coming around from harvesting something in the small kitchen garden, brushing the soil from his hands.

“I know, Master Maggot, and I apologize for that. I'll pay for the extra month, of course.”

“It's almost time for elevenses, would you care you join us?” The stout, dark-haired Hobbit woman approached her as her husband took Nicki's bridle from Moira, and Moira noted that her belly was once again swollen large with life.

“I'd love to, Hazel, thank you.” Moira smiled warmly. “Working on number six, I see.”

“And maybe seven.” Hazel grinned at her, rubbing her belly. “Twins run in Gered's family.”

Hazel took her hand, and Moira let herself be led into the comfortable hobbit-hole. It was much smaller than Bilbo's, but still cozy and inviting. Moira tried to help her pregnant friend with the work in the kitchen, but Hazel wouldn't hear of it. “Pregnant or not, I'm a proper Hobbit and a proper hostess,” she told her. After several attempts, Moira sat guiltily down and let Hazel bustle about on her own, gathering dishes and brewing tea and getting the baking out of the oven. Daisy crawled into her lap (Moira hid her wince when the fauntling innocently jostled her wound from the Orc sword) and asked to hear about her adventures in the wild. Hazel quickly shut that down, declaring that Moira's last story involving a haunted forest and giant spiders and even a dragon had given the girl nightmares, and that was quite enough of that, thank you very much.

“It did not give me nightmares!” The girl stuck her lower lip out in an adorable pout, her wide crystal blue eyes shining up at Moira. “Please, 'O'ra?”

Moira grinned at the curly-haired fauntling and kissed her forehead, before setting her back on the ground. “You listen to your mother, Daisy. She makes the rules in this hobbit-hole.”

“Darn tootin'.” Hazel appeared at the table then, setting down the elevenses meal in front of her husband and friend before helping her children to the table and then seeing to herself. As always, the food was delicious, and as expected, the conversation centered around the goings-on in Hobbiton, the fickleness of the weather, and the fine craft of gardening. It was all so … soothing. Eventually the master of the house excused himself to continue his work harvesting in the fields, and Hazel brewed another pot of tea for herself and her human friend, as the children played on the floor.

“When are you going to settle down, Moira?” Hazel asked presently. “You and that Master Baggins would have a handsome brood. Why, your children would be the tallest Hobbits since Bullroarer Took!”

“Hazel, how many times do I have to tell you, Bilbo and I are just friends?”

“Sure you are,” Hazel waved a spoon at her, as if brushing away Moira's statement.

“No, I mean it.” Moira protested. She knew that the nature of her relationship with Bilbo was a subject of frequent conversation in the Shire. It was only natural. Bilbo was an oddity himself, having disappeared on an adventure with 13 Dwarves, a human, and a wizard, and then shown up 18 months later to a ransacked home, after everyone had given him up for dead. And then only 5 or 6 months later a lone human Ranger, and female one at that, shows up at Bag End, and is taken in without a word. And most damning of all, she continued to return every winter when her ranging was done, living with the curly-haired, shy bachelor for at least three or four months out of each year, depending on the weather. She knew how it looked.

“Uh huh. What's wrong? Does he have a temper?” Hazel teased.

“No! Of course not! Bilbo is gentle and kind and sweet, and he's probably my best friend in all of Middle-Earth!"

“Then what's the problem?”

“I – ”Moira looked down at her tea and fiddled with the handle of the smaller-than-human teacup.

Hazel looked at her friend appraisingly. “Oh. OH!” Her voice softened. “Your heart already belongs to someone else, doesn't it?”

Mutely, Moira nodded.

“Where is he, if you don't mind me asking?”

“It doesn't matter. I can't have him.” What else was there to say?

Hazel patted her hand in a comforting manner. “You know what you need?”

“No. What?”

“Pie!” The Hobbit woman declared, leaping to her hairy feet, surprisingly nimbly for one so pregnant, and nodded decisively. Moira couldn't hold back the laughter that bubbled up from deep inside as Hazel went to grab the pumpkin pie that had been cooling on the sill. Yup, the Shire was the perfect place to nurse a broken heart. And so Moira was already well stuffed with all types of food by the time she even got to Bilbo's that year and, being the proper Hobbit he was, he offered her a lunch she couldn't possibly fit into her already stuffed stomach, and was forced to eat it all himself. Couldn't let it go to waste, you see. 

~000~

_months later …_

Moira smiled at Bilbo as they sat down to the simple supper he had cooked from the rabbits her snares had caught. The seedlings in his garden had been harried all year by the creatures, and he had been delighted when she had offered to set snares around the most rabbit-bothered plant beds as spring approached. That was a fine solution, not only saving Bilbo's carrots but supplying them with meat that they didn't have to pay for at the butcher in Hobbiton. Just as they were about to dig into the mouth-watering meal before them, a loud knock sounded at the door.

“Who could that be?” Bilbo asked curiously. “I'll get it,” Moira volunteered. “If it's the Sackville-Bagginses, it'll be a lot easier for me to chase them off than you.” She explained when he gave her what she called The Look. At mention of the Sackville-Bagginses, Bilbo gave her a grateful smile and ceded the duty of door-answering to her. As she stood up, she playfully tousled his hair with her hand (because she knew he hated it). Moira made sure to stomp to the door with exaggerated anger, fixing her face in an expression of annoyance as she did so. Calling at this hour was quite rude in the Shire, and any Hobbit who did so was doing it to cause annoyance on purpose.

But when she opened the round, green door she was met not with the expected Hobbits, but with two Dwarves that she knew very well. Her jaw dropped and her mind went blank as she met a pair of crystalline blue eyes she remembered so well.

“Hello, Moira,” Fili said gently, stepping over the threshold, his brother behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN!


	13. Not a Fairy Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward reunion and a fearful truth that cannot be avoided or lied about anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be doing the flashback chapter next. But I already had this chapter half finished (I wrote this chapter weeks ago! The scene would not leave my head until I got it down). Now the muses made me finish it. Hope you enjoy! As always, every review will be cherished. I live on love and reviews. I do not own the Hobbit, I only own my OCs. I would have no need to write fanfic if I already owned a certain blonde Dwarven prince......
> 
> Also, I should probably warn people that it goes to kind of a dark place near the end of this chapter. I refuse to put specific trigger warnings on fics because that's a spoiler. Really, I've read a lot worse stuff, but I dunno, it might bother people who are sensitive or have a weak stomach or something. 
> 
> **Khuzdul words:**  
>  Nadad = brother.

They sat across from each other in Bilbo's kitchen, the smell of fresh-baked bread still hanging in the air. The day's last rays of sunlight streamed through the round window, illuminating what would have been an idyllic scene if it hadn't been for the tense atmosphere between them. She held a cup of hot, minty tea in her hands. She studied the tea instead of the Dwarf in front of her.

The Hobbit had made himself scarce, dragging Kili along with him. The dark-haired Dwarf had protested, but Bilbo would take no argument. “This is for them to work out alone.” He had actually pulled Kili out by clamping a surprisingly strong grip on his ear, no doubt channeling his Took mother for the task.

Fili's thick fingers drummed impatiently on the table, and Moira struggled not to think about what those skilled fingers could do to her.

He was the first to surrender and break the silence. “You kept my courtship beads.”

Moira shrugged. “I can give them back.”

He frowned. “I don't want them back.”

She didn't respond. What could she possibly say? How could she possibly make him understand?

Fili started again. “I want you to come back with me. You don't have to live in Erebor. I know you were unhappy living under the Mountain, away from the trees and sky. I understand you aren't a darrow, you don't think like us. You could get a place in Dale -”

She couldn't control the bitter laugh that erupted from her throat. She finally lifted her eyes to meet his, for the first time since she had opened the door to Bag End and saw him standing there expectantly. His blue eyes which usually sparkled with life and mirth held just confusion now.

“I'm sorry, Fili. But it just can't work between us. I've tried to tell you that, but you never wanted to listen.”

“I'm listening now.”

Moira shook her head and looked away, tears welling in her eyes. She refused to let them out.

“I know you love me...”

There was no point in denying it. She sighed. “Sometimes love isn't enough.”

“Why?” His question was so quiet she almost didn't hear it.

“Why?!” _So many reasons._ “You're a fucking PRINCE, for one thing! You deserve better than me, Fili!” Her voice cracked at his name.

Fili sighed. “Look, I know that Thorin never made you feel welcome, but I assure you that he regrets his actions, -”

“Fili, it's not just Thorin!”

“What do you mean?” He looked even more confused.

She sat back, running her fingers through her loose, unbraided hair in frustration. “You stupid noble boys don't change, no matter what species you are.” She blew out her breath violently and continued before Fili could ask the question that was clearly forming on his face. “I'm human. I'm weak. The Line of Durin deserves better. No -” She cut off his protest. “Let me speak. You may not care about that, but I do. Especially now that your brother is fucking an _ELF_ ,” she emphasized the word with extra vehemence that she knew Tauriel didn't deserve, but she hoped it would make Fili see her point. “ONE of you has to marry a real dwarf woman and continue the Line of Durin. It's your duty to your ancestors and your people. And besides that,” her voice finally softened “YOU deserve better than me. You deserve some beautiful, honorable darrowdam who can give you true drawfling sons. All I can give you is pain, heartache and death.”

“If this is because you lost your first child ...” _Dammit_. She never should have told him about that miscarriage. She had always told him too much. She had not made that mistake in a long time. Why did he affect her so much?

“It has nothing to do with that!” She finally lost her temper, leaping to her feet and throwing the cup of tea at him. He deftly ducked, and the cup shattered against the wall, leaving a dark, wet stain from the tea.

“Fili, don't you get it yet? You don't know me! Not really! I've lied to you since the day we met!” She threw that out viciously, hoping to hurt him. “I've lied to everyone, to you, to Kili, Thorin, Gandalf! I've lied to Bilbo, the most inoffensive person I have ever met! I've lied to everyone, to all my friends, because it's the only way I know to _survive_! You don't know the FIRST thing about me! I'm cursed, Fili! And I don't mean that metaphorically! I mean really, literally, magically _cursed_! And now” she paused, making sure he was listening. “I have to run again!”

She balled her small hands into fists, breathing heavily. Fili sat quietly, absorbing this new information. She watched him now, and this time she allowed herself to fully see him. His handsome face was in an expression of thoughtfulness, drawing his thick eyebrows together. She studied all his features. His aquiline nose, his full lips, his sun-bright hair twisted in complicated braids framing his strong jaw, the blonde hair on his chin, which she realized was slightly longer than the last time she had seen him. He was attempting to grow his beard out. The cheap steel beads he had worn in his hair and mustache when she had first met him had been replaced with mithril after the Mountain had been taken back. He had shed his fur coat after entering Bag End, revealing the fine tunic beneath. It was a deep blue color that bought out the brightness of his eyes, and richly embroidered in gray with Dwarven runes around the wrists and the collar, which opened slightly to reveal a hint of the golden chest hair beneath. She knew from experience that the golden fur was much softer than it looked. The tunic was finer than any he had worn on the quest, but still cut to be practical, in true dwarven fashion. It clung to the curve of strong muscles on his arms and chest, outlining his fine physique from a lifetime of training, fighting, and blacksmithing, like so many Dwarves. He looked every inch the Crown Prince of Erebor. _He looks so much like a lion_ , and that thought made her heart ache for a different reason. She pushed the memories away. They had no place here, and she would never be going back. Once the walls of a universe closed behind her, they were closed forever. And truly, she didn't want to go back. That was kind of the whole problem.

He also looked far too calm. She hated it when he was so calm and reasonable and she was burning with anger. It only made her even angrier and more likely to fly off the handle. The mustache braids that framed his luscious mouth swayed slightly as he cocked his head to the side, appraising her, and a different kind of burn began to spread through her. She did her best to ignore it, but she already felt her anger begin to ebb away, leaving only despair. She preferred the anger. It hurt so much less. She tried to summon the anger back, so it could cleanse all the despair from her.

“What's _wrong_ with you, Fili? Why aren't you angry, after what I did to you?!! And now I just told you that I've lied to you for our entire relationship, and you just sit there looking at me!”

That broke his control. “OF COURSE I'M ANGRY!!!” Fili roared, rising to his feet, fists balled at his sides. Gods, he was fearsome when he finally let his temper loose, so like the lion he resembled. “How could you DO that to me, Moira? Just disappear, without a word! Just gone! Do you have any idea how much that hurt?! How devastated I was?! I expect something like that from Thorin, but he insists that it was _your_ idea! Why? I would have NEVER done anything that despicable to you!”

“You're right, I'm despicable, that's why you shouldn't be with me!” Moira screamed back, angry tears leaking from beneath her dark lashes. “I thought you'd be over me by now! I thought I was doing the right thing! I was letting you go! Giving you the freedom to love someone who isn't already ruined! I'm not worth your love Fili, I'm worse than nothing, I'm damaged goods, I'm, I'm – I'm trash!”

Moira's words couldn't have shocked Fili more if she had punched him directly in the face. Was that really how she saw herself? He has known she was troubled. But was she really this broken? _Mahal, what happened to her?_ Fili felt his anger subside as quickly as it had surfaced, leaving only vast waves of guilt and sadness on her behalf.

“Oh, Moira,” Fili's voice was soft now, gentle. “That's just not true. You are brave, and selfless, and honorable, and maybe you have lied about the details of your life, but I've seen your heart. I know who you are INSIDE, Moira.”

“That isn't really my name.” she muttered defensively. She was running out of steam, and Fili could see it, so he ignored the new tidbit of information. For now. He stored it away in the back of his mind to ask her about it later, when she was feeling more generous.

“You think yourself unworthy. You always have. But as a Prince of Durin, if you hold my line in such esteem, I tell you now, you ARE worthy.” Her shoulders slumped, defeated. Why was he always so _kind_ , even when she was at her most vicious? She wanted to hate him sometimes, but she just couldn't. The bastard.

“You don't know that.” She whispered. “You wouldn't say that if you knew the things I've DONE.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head, the tears really falling now, silently etching twin paths down her cheeks. He longed to embrace her and kiss the tear-stains from her face as he had in Rivendell, but he remained where he was standing, not wanting to spook her now that she was actually talking to him. Warrior or not, she was like a deer sometimes, likely to bolt if startled when she was so emotional.

Fili sighed. “Tell me about this curse, then. I'm sure we can find some way to break it, especially if we ask for Gandalf's help.”

“You aren't the first person to promise me that.” That old bitterness crept into her tone again, the bitterness that he had spent many an hour ruminating on the source of. “And Gandalf isn't the first wizard I've met.”

Now his interest was truly peaked. Gandalf had said there were only five wizards in all of Middle-Earth. Were one of them responsible for cursing her? Is that why she refused help from Gandalf? Moira turned away from him, blinking at the tears in her eyes and steadying herself by bracing an arm against the warm wood of Bilbo's walls.

“It's better if you go...” her voice was soft, and to her credit, it only wavered a little. “It'll take time, I know, but you'll fall in love again.”

“No, I won't.” Fili meant to sound reassuring, but he couldn't keep the sadness from tinging his voice. “Dwarves only fall in love once, and never again. I'm sorry if I failed to explain what you meant to me properly. You are my One, Moira. You will always been my One, my only love.”

Her head whipped around in surprise, her long, dark hair whipping at the movement. Her dark eyes were examining his face, searching for, Fili thought, honesty. He kept his expression open and earnest, his eyes locked on hers. Until she covered her face in her hands.

He had to strain to hear the words she choked out then. “I-I-I was hoping th-that was a m-m-myth....” she began to truly weep now. “Wh-What have I done? You don't deserve this …. I'm so-sorry, I'm so, so sorry.”

Fili's heart lurched at seeing his One in such pain, and he didn't even understand the cause of it. He couldn't stay still then, and he carefully his way to her.

“I'm **_not ___** _ _sorry.” His voice was thick with emotion. She looked down at him, despair written on her face, but in her eyes … was that hope? Did she want him to convince her? Encouraged, he pushed forward. “I don't know the reason for these tears, but if you let me, I promise I will do everything in my power to make you happy, every day, for the rest of our lives.”__

____

__

**__****_ _ **

**____ **

She closed her eyes. “For the rest of _my_ life.” she whispered. “I have a different lifespan than you, remember? When I die you'll be all alone, and if what you are saying is true, then you'll be alone for the rest of your very long life....”

“No, not alone. I'll have my brother, my family, and maybe, our children.” His voice was hoarse now. “Nothing can change it now anyway. This is Mahal's will. I can never love another, even if I wanted to. Mahal made me for you, and maybe, Odin made you for me.”

“It's … just not that simple.” Moira turned her face away from him, but he reached up and cupped her chin, gently but insistently bringing her face back to look at him. She was backed up against the counter in front of the kitchen's round window. There would be no getting away from him, not now. He needed her to hear this.

Looking deep into her tear-filled brown eyes, Fili spoke again. “I know you have had a hard life, although I don't know the details. I swear on Durin's ax, on the spirits of all my forefathers, that you can tell me _anything_ ,” He poured all of his love and pain into that one word, willing her to hear it, to understand the depth of meaning behind it. “Anything that has happened _to_ you, anything you have _done_. And I will not love you **_any_** less.”

****

“You will ...” her voice was so broken, so unlike her, and it broke Fili's heart to hear it. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, embrace her, convince her of his devotion. “This isn't a fairy tale. I'm not Snow White and you're not Prince Charming. There's no happy ending here.”

“Why not?” Fili's voice was a whisper, and his thumb was rubbing small circles along her jawline.

“It's just – I can't – Fili, please just believe me when I tell you –”

He cut her off then, stretching upwards a little to place a kiss on her lips, soft and gentle, but insistent. Her body stiffened, but after a moment he felt her respond, her lips parting just slightly to give him access. He took it, pressing his body against hers, his tongue sweeping between her lips slowly, delicately, once, twice, three times. A small hand reached up, hesitantly, fluttering over his shoulders, before laying against his chest, the fingertips just inside his tunic collar, stroking his chest hair gently. His other hand enclosed it, keeping her hand trapped in its position at his chest.

Fili felt triumphant. He knew she loved him, she was just scared. No, _terrified_. Of what, he didn't know. It wasn't her feelings for him, like he once thought. No, something else, something in her past was haunting her. But he would find out. He would make her feel safe, he would love her like no one else had. He would do whatever was needed to pry her secrets from her, so he could banish her demons for good. If she was more comfortable here in the Shire, he would stay with her. If he had to go on another quest to break this curse she spoke of, he would. He would abdicate the throne of Erebor if needs be, to devote himself to her entirely.

Moira pulled away suddenly – again – and shook her head trying to shake the fog from her mind. Why did he affect her like this? She had been in love before, many, many times, with men and women, humans and aliens. She had never lost herself so much in anyone. And he was right, it terrified her. Wordlessly, she pushed him aside and rushed past, trying to ignore the hurt in his eyes when she did so.

She strode past him, her long legs - longer than his, anyway - taking her quickly past the rounded, green-painted door to Bag End. She wasn't running, but she walked swiftly. She didn't know where she was going. She just had to get away from those intelligent blue eyes staring at her. She was afraid that she would throw herself into Fili's arms, tell him everything, bear her soul to him, and Fili would bemoan his misfortune that his One was a madwoman. She heard Fili just behind her, and heard Kili and Bilbo running to them, summoned by the sound her ripping the door open and slamming it shut violently. She strode past the gate and started down the dusty road, just thinking of getting away from Fili, from his incessant questions, his gentle, hurt blue eyes, his overwhelming devotion, and her own burning guilt.

She didn't get far. The pain was sudden, searing, hot and cold at once. It started in her right forearm, and ripped through her entire being, body and soul, with an intensity she had only felt once before. _NO. No, it's not possible._ She screamed at the top of her lungs, an unearthly shriek, her knees giving out beneath her. She crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, but Fili's strong arms caught her before she hit the ground. She didn't feel him, or hear Kili's and Bilbo's concerned shouts.

**_Hello, lover._ ** The dark, silky voice resounded in her mind. No, no, no. It wasn't possible.

“You're dead!” She screamed, not realizing she said the words with her mouth, not her mind. “You're dead, I watched you die!” She writhed in agony against Fili's body.

 ** _Did you think a little thing like death would stop me? That was the not the first time I died, nor the second, as you're well aware._** The voice was menacingly sensual, intimate, and a fresh wave of pain racked her body. **_I apologize for the delay, but killing me WAS an inconvenience. We'll have to make up for lost time._**

The meaning of his last sentence bought her back to her senses, and she fought through the pain. She pulled away from Fili and pushed the sleeve of her jacket up to her elbow. _It_ was were she knew it would be, in the middle of her forearm. _His_ brand writhed like a thing alive, sending fresh stabs of bone-searing pain throughout her body when she touched it.

“What is that?!” Fili's voice was alarmed, and she met his eyes above her. She instantly regretted it.

**_Who's that?_** the voice in her head demanded. **_Oh, my little dove, have you been cheating on me?_**

“I don't belong to you!” She ground out through gritted teeth, not caring that she was speaking aloud anymore.

**_Oh, little dove, you do. You are mine, now and forever. I'll have to teach you that again, and your lover, too._ **

She saw a flash behind her eyes, then, through the psychic connection between them, that he couldn't hold back. _He doesn't know where I am yet._ She had time to prevent him from finding her, but only if she acted quickly. She rolled away from Fili, deftly pulling one of his many daggers from his belt.

She leapt to her feet, staggering from the pain, waving the dagger in Fili's shocked face as she backed away. Kili and Bilbo were standing on either side of him now, mouths agape. She turned away from them and placed the dagger on her skin, flattening the blade, and began to cut, ignoring their horrified cries.

**__**

Fresh pain shot threw her, but not from her cut. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she grit her teeth against the pain desperately, but still staggered from it. 

****

****__

Fili was quicker than either the Hobbit or his brother. He grabbed her wrist in one hand and the dagger in the other.

“WHAT IN MAHAL'S NAME ARE YOU DOING?!!” He roared.

“Fili, please!” She sagged against his chest, sobbing at the pain. The arm that held the dagger wrapped around her waist, supporting her suddenly boneless body. The other maintained it's iron grip on her wrist. In his panic he wasn't controlling his natural dwarven strength, and his fingers would probably leave bruises, but she didn't feel it. 

“I have to cut it off! He'll find me!”

“Who?!” the blonde prince demanded. “Who is doing this to you?!”  


“There's no time! Fili, please!” When she lifted her head, her dark gaze bored into his eyes. “He'll kill everyone. He'll take me back. _He'll torture you to death in front of me!_ ”

There was no dishonesty in her eyes, only fear. Fear, and unimaginable pain. Fili made a split second decision. He scooped Moira up in his arms, and strode back to Bag End, taking the panicked human away from the prying eyes of the Hobbits who had run to see what was going on when she first started screaming. Kili and Bilbo trailed after him, casting confused and worried glances at each other and towards the pair in front of them. As soon as the four of them were back inside, the door safely shut, Fili sank to the floor. He cradled her head against his chest. She was shaking like a leaf. He hated what he knew he had to do to her.

“Please, Fili,” Moira's voice was getting weaker. He knew she was fighting some kind of battle inside herself that he didn't understand. He could do nothing less. Fili pulled the dagger out and placed it on the red, angry mark on her flesh where she had stopped. She had clearly been trying to flay the offending, magical brand from her skin. It still moved, and he felt the dark magic oozing from it like poison. But it was in her, his One ... He hesitated.

“Nadad! Brother, what are you doing?!” Moira had forgotten about Kili and Bilbo.

“Do it.” She hissed, and nodded at Fili in what she hoped was an encouraging manner.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered brokenly. She gritted her teeth as he cut, carefully sliding the knife under the cut she had begun. Her free hand fisted in his tunic, and she concentrated on the pain of her skin separating from her flesh. It was easier to handle than the magical pain lancing through her soul unbearably, and that pain intensified a hundred times when _HE_ realized what was happening.

_**NO! I WILL FIND YOU, YOU BITCH!!** _

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” She snickered. “You're going to fail, _my Lord_.” She spat the title with vehemence, with a hatred borne of familiarity. Fili knew she wasn't speaking to him, and continued with his task, trying hard not to think about _what_ he was cutting.

**_YOU WILL BOTH PAY DEARLY FOR THIS!!_ **

The square of skin finally tore away from her muscle and arced away with the force of Fili's flip of the knife. It landed on the tile of Bag End with a sickening,wet squelch. The magical pain instantly disappeared, replaced only with the sharp ache where the skin on her forearm used to be. It was much more manageable.

“BURN IT!” Her voice was commanding, full of urgency. “Bilbo, take it! Toss it into the fire! Burn it now, _before he finds me!_ ”

The Hobbit nodded grimly, glad to finally have a way to help his friend. He grabbed the bloody flap of skin between his thumb and forefinger gingerly. Bilbo raced to the living room, where a fire crackled in the hearth merrily, oblivious to the drama unfolding before it.

 ** _Too late. I found you._** The insidious voice whispered, caressing her mind, just as Bilbo tossed the skin onto the fire. It burst into flame too quickly, the fire leaping up in anger, and the color changed, suddenly blacker than night, threaded through with a crimson as red as heart's blood. Bilbo slunk back from it fearfully. But just as quickly it died back down and took on the colors of normal flame once again.

“Too late.” she mumbled, echoing _his_ words. “He found me.” The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was Fili's beautiful blue eyes shining with concern. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. She only heard laughter, fading away as if receding into the distance. The dark sorcerer's laughter echoed in her ears as she finally passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's no getting around it this time, is there? When she wakes up, she's going to have to tell them the truth. All of it. That should be interesting.


	14. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get a bit trippy. Couldn't resist using the enchantment on Mirkwood as an excuse to get inside Moira's broken head a little more. ;)

Mirkwood was appropriately named. It was dark in the forest, so dark that it wasn't long before the Company couldn't tell what time it was, or even if it was day or night. No light filtered down from the thick canopy to illuminate the forest floor below. The trees were massive, as thick around as a small house in some cases, the jagged bark black as pitch, the branches twisted evilly, the trees bent and misshapen as if carrying their own heavy invisible burdens. Bilbo had been right when he said this forest felt diseased. Moira was a Ranger, a woodswoman, and should be at home in any forest. Or if not at home, than at least comfortable and confident. But this wood, this one was something else. It like every tree was watching them, weighing the little party down with it's might. The entire wood was alive. Alive, and _angry_. There was a black miasma filling the accursed forest, and it's dark heart was filled with malicious intent. If Moira was uncomfortable, than the Dwarves would be a hundred times more so, she knew. They were at home in deep rock and caverns, but forests and trees were like their natural enemies. And the dark heart of this cursed woodland seemed to know it and respond, filling the unnaturally thick air with creaking and groaning from the massive black trees.

It wasn't long before the Company was going in the circles. Thorin was lost, the enchantment that lay on the forest easily muddying his already not-very-stellar sense of direction. The group came to stop, spread out in various places along the path, arguing amongst themselves about how to proceed. Moira was standing apart from the group, gazing into the thick overgrowth of the forest. A shadow was growing in her mind.... She should be on the look-out for a threat to the Company. Something would be coming for them. What was it? She couldn't quite remember ...

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ori pick something up from the leaf-littered ground. “Look!”

“A tobacco pouch,” Dori's voice came, sounding slow, almost drugged. “There are Dwarves in these woods.”

“Dwarves from ta Blue Mountains, no less.” Bofur this time. “This is exactly ta same as mine!”

“That's cuz it is yours, you understand?” Bilbo was somehow able to hold onto a semblance of reason. “We are going around in circles. We're lost.”

“We're not lost. We keep heading east.” Thorin's voice boomed out, his deep baritone carrying a hint of anger.

“But which way is east? We've lost the sun.”

The argument continued, but for Moira their voices seemed to fade. She couldn't hear it through the pounding of her blood pumping in her ears. She caught movement out in the bramble-y woods again and turned towards it, and when the flash of color that passed behind the branches took the shape that it did, she should have been surprised. Instead, she felt only a detached fascination. She took a step forward, towards the thick, entangled branches and away from the path. The Dwarves continued to argue behind her, trying to figure out which way to go. Moira caught the movement and flash of color again, and took another step forward, and another, and another.

That couldn't be what she thought it was …. the magic weighed heavily on her, making her thoughts dull and sluggish. She struggled against the sorcery, trying to build her mental shields back up as she had been taught. But the magic of Mirkwood was overwhelmingly oppressive, the power of not a single sorcerer, but of an entire forest, like it was one vast, black-hearted organism. And it was _**not**_ happy at their intrusion.

A figure formed from the color and movement in the branches, stepping from the shadows to face to her, and it was … herself. _No, not Moira. Moira belongs to Middle-Earth._ The figure had Moira's face, was watching her with her own dark, cautious eyes, but came from an earlier time, carried an earlier name like she carried the round wooden shield painted with bindrunes for fierceness in battle. _Brenna. Brenna Aslaugdottir_. The realization hit Moira like a ton of bricks, or like the small hand-ax that Brenna hefted in her other hand, lighter than one of Dwarven make but no less deadly, and Moira's head swam. _What in Odin's name is going on?_

Another figure stepped forth from the shadows, also wearing Moira's face, this one with her hair chopped short and a blaster slung low on her hip, a stormtrooper's helmet causally carried under her arm, a trophy of battle, or a tool of infiltration for the Rebels. _Siri._

Another joined her, wearing a red plaid flannel shirt unbuttoned over a wife-beater, anti-possession tattoo visible on her chest because the tank top was riding low, sawed off shot-gun flung over her shoulder, hair mussed, cuts and bruises on her face. _Kris._ This one smiled at her through cracked lips. Moira's eyes went to Kris's belt, where she saw Ruby's demon-killing knife sitting in a leather stealth. Had Cas's spell worked, after all, then? Were Sam and Dean here, too? Moira shook her head, trying to shake the memories away. _No_ , she fought the fog in her brain. _No, that was lifetimes ago, they're gone. I'm in Middle-Earth, I'm Moira now._

Another figure, this one wearing a long, thin dress, with a Lannister lion sigil on a golden chain draped around her neck. That confused Moira, because she was almost certain that Jaime had never given her a necklace like that. He couldn't have risked it. But she was soon distracted from that thought by yet another figure, dressed completely in white, brandishing a small, glowing knife, a Votan charge blade. And another, and another, and another. How many were there? As Moira looked from one figure to another, her mind whirling, they seemed to blur and melt into each other, melding and fusing and then becoming separate and solid once more. They all carried her face, but different names. What did they want from her? They surrounded her on all sides, closing in on her, hemming her in, some smiling comfortingly, some smirking evilly. None spoke to her. No, wait, she was watching herself, in the middle of the circle of herselves … Which one was she again?

“Moira?” _Fili_. Her heart leapt into her throat. Was he real? _He has to be real_. Moira turned towards the sound of Fili's voice, and her other selves vanished, melting back into the mists of memory from whence they came. Fili was standing several paces away, only a few feet off of the path. Concern laced his voice when he spoke again. “Gandalf said we must stick to the path.”

Her mouth was open as she stared at him, her mind still befuddled. Through the bewildering haze that had settled itself in her mind, Moira felt a now-familiar heat spread through her as she gazed at Fili. He was gorgeous, a fairy-tale prince come to life to rescue her from herself. And last night he had told her that he loved her. _How can someone like this even be interested in me, let alone **LOVE** me?_ Part of her didn't believe it could possibly be happening. _Please, Odin, let him be real_. She tried to speak, but her tongue was too thick, and it stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Moira?” Fili's sapphire eyes seemed to be lit from within, an eerie illumination in the gloom of the forest. “Are you alright?”

 _Is he talking to me?_ Trying to think was like trying to walk through drying cement. _What's my name again?_

“Moira?” Fili took the next few paces away from the path to join her in just two just long, quick strides, coming to stand right next to her.

She swallowed. “I saw ….

“What?” He was looking up at her with such concern.

“I saw ... myself … lots of myselves ….” despair crept into her voice. “I don't know which one I am anymore....”

Understanding sparked in Fili's brilliant blue eyes. “It's this place.” He said gently, comfortingly. “It's magic is affecting you.”

Moira looked into Fili's face, wanting desperately to believe him. But as she did, there was a hazy change in her vision, and she saw his features shift. He was still blond, but now his hair was shorter, his eyes an emerald green, and his smile cut like a knife. _But that can't be …_ that wasn't right, she shouldn't be looking _down_ into Jaime's face, Jamie was so much taller than her … Right in front her, his face shifted again, and this time, the face was slightly thinner, but still strong. The sides of the head were shaved and tattooed with intricate Norse designs, while the hair on the top of his head was long and plaited and hung down his back in a long warrior's braid. Moira shook her head desperately, and the features shifted again, to a more feminine face, but not necessarily softer. The plumb pink lips were twisted into a smirk, and the fierce blue gaze was mocking her now. _Cara. That's not right either._ Moira backed away, hands waving in front of her as if to ward off the spectral images swimming in her vision.

“I'm finally losing my mind ...” she whispered in horror. She'd been afraid of this for a while, and now it was really happening. How could a person not go mad, living the kind of life she lived? Eventually, a small mortal mind would no longer be able to keep the realities separate, to wall off the different lives and just discard a lifetime of knowledge and memories. She was sure that at some point in the future she'd be reduced to a gibbering mess that needed to institutionalized, just like her mother had. She just tried not to think about it, and to do some good in the meantime. But this was happening so much sooner than she had anticipated. … She thought it would take a few more centuries of universe-hopping, at least, before she lost it completely … This was just like one of her dreams, the ones where the barriers came down and all the worlds she had lived in blended together. But she was awake! She was awake! At least, she _thought_ she was awake ... She didn't remember falling asleep. But the air of Mirkwood was so heavy she could have laid down in the middle of the path and curled up in on herself without realizing it....

Fili followed her, his hands stretched out to reach for her. “It's okay, it's okay,” He was saying soothingly, as Moira's eyes became unfocused, darting around, looking at ghosts that weren't there. “Whatever you think is happening, it's not real,” Fili spoke soothingly, “It's just an illusion, woven by this accused forest's enchantment.” Fili took both her hands in his, running his thumbs along the backs of her hands and her knuckles, sending sparks between them. The feeling of his over-warm hands enveloping hers and the sword-callouses on his fingers caressing her skin bought her out of the illusion and her panic, bringing her slowly back to the present.

“Fili.” she sighed. She pulled one of her hands from his and hesitantly raised her fingers to caress his face, running the tips along his jaw, feeling the sharp prickle of his blonde beard. “You're real....” she breathed in relief.

Fili chuckled. “Aye, lass, I'm real.”

Moira's mind was still foggy. She tried to keep it on the task at hand, on the job of crossing Mirkwood, and there was something at the back of her conscious screaming at her about giant spiders, but all she could see was Fili's full, bearded lips. All she could feel was the warmth of his hands holding hers and the prickle of his beard as he leaned his head into the touch of her palm. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart and the deafening sound of his breathing as his chest started to heave. From the way his blue eyes were suddenly dilated, his mind was on the same track as hers. His pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips, swept along the full bottom lip, making it glisten, and Moira moaned lowly at the sight. His incredible eyes widened when he heard her moan, and Fili reached up with his large hand to grasp her neck and pull her face down to his. Moira kissed him back passionately, her tongue slipping into his mouth as he pushed her roughly up against the nearest tree. The bark of the tree scrapped against her back as Fili bit her lip roughly. Her wanton moan made him press himself harder to her, shoving one of his knees between her legs. She shamelessly ground herself into his thigh as she kissed him, causing him to spew Khuzdul curses into her mouth. They were within full sight of the stragglers from the Company, but Moira's mind was too addled to care. From the way Fili's large, hot hands began to touch her through her tunic, so was his.

“Okay, laddie, that's enough of that,” a deep voice boomed nearby, but neither of them registered it.

Suddenly Fili was gone, and Moira whined at the loss.

Dwalin had grabbed Fili by the back of his fur coat and hauled him bodily off of her. The expression on his wildly bearded face was stern, even frightening, but his tone held a hint of amusement. The larger Dwarf held his prince a few inches off the ground, and Fili dangled for a moment, a glazed look still in his blue eyes. Balin was standing next to his brother, and when Moira met the old adviser's kind eyes, the reality of the situation came crashing down on her. Her face flushed in embarrassment as she scrambled away from the tree she had just been writhing and gasping against, as if it had burned her.

“Oh, fuck fuck fuckity _**fuck**_!” she gasped, attempting to straighten her disheveled clothing, as Dwalin sat Fili back on solid ground.

“No, we stopped you two before you got that far,” Dwalin commented. His massive arms were crossed now, and his face was still set like stone, but his voice was _definitely_ amused. Fili flushed scarlet, mumbling some kind of explanation, his eyes on the ground. Moira knew exactly how he felt. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. And then a horrible thought suddenly occurred to her.

“Thorin didn't see us, did he?” she blurted.

Dwalin guffawed. Balin shot him a look. Balin turned back to Moira and said kindly, “No, lassie, he's at the head of the Company and sent us to see why the two of you had fallen behind.”

That surprised Moira. “We started moving again?”

Even Balin chuckled this time. “Aye, lass. You too were obviously too wrapped up in each other to notice.”

“I don't know what came over us ...” It was Fili speaking this time.

“It's fine, lad, it was the enchantment upon these woods. Although,” Balin glanced at Moira. “Perhaps it's best if the two of you don't walk too close together, at least until we reach the other side of this forest.”

“The lass has some enchantments of her own that young Fili's fallen prey to!” Dwalin smirked this time. Fili's eyes widened and Balin hit his brother. “Not now, you old fool,” he scolded. “Can't you see how embarrassed they are?”

“Aye, this is Elf magic,” Fili chimed in, glad to shift the blame. Dwalin grunted in a disbelieving way. Nevertheless the old warrior set out back towards the path, wrapping his strong arm around Fili's shoulders to steer him away from Moira, while Moira followed behind them. Balin fell into step with her. Moira's eyes watched Fili marching along ahead of her.

“Tell me something, lass,” Balin said, after they had walked a ways. Moira looked down at the white-bearded Dwarf beside her. “How do you feel about our prince?”

“I think that's obvious, isn't it?” She flushed at little.

“I mean, beyond the … carnal pleasures.” Balin looked a little uncomfortable saying that so blatantly, but he was looking at her for an answer now. Moira considered for a moment. How much should she tell Balin?

“If I tell you, you won't tell Thorin? Not yet, anyway?”

“You have my word, lass.” Knowing how serious that was, Moira nodded.

“I love him.” She said simply. There was no need to say more. Moira was surprised to hear Balin respond with one word. “Good.”

“Really?”

Balin chuckled. “I've known Fili since he was a wee bairn bouncing on Dis's lap, and I can see how he looks at you. Trust me, he loves you right back.” The both gazed ahead at Fili's back for a moment, before Balin went on. “Fili has always had it harder than his brother, being the Heir and all. He's always taken his duty seriously, like any good Dwarf. He feels the weight of it. It's good to see him so happy with you, lass.”

The acceptance warmed Moira's heart, before she remembered the king-in-exile's feelings towards her. “I don't think Thorin agrees.”

“He'll come around.”

“Fili said the same thing. Kili, too.”

“There, you see? Who would know better than his own kin? If his nephews and I both agree, then it must be true.” Balin patted her back reassuringly, as he couldn't comfortably reach her shoulders when he was standing beside her. The old advisor hurried to catch up with his king when Thorin's voice boomed a command for him to return to the front of the line of Dwarves.

~000~

When the Elves came out of woodwork (literally), Moira was both relieved and apprehensive. She had always hated giant bug creatures, although these spiders were nowhere near as large as the mother hellbug that had nested below the city of Defiance. Give her a pack of Orcs or a platoon of stormtroopers any day. She had to admit that the Elves fought with both skill and grace, gliding down from the trees to rain death and destruction on the offending spiders. Unfortunately, the Dwarves were treated as the enemy as soon as the spiders were defeated, and Moira was one of them (more or less). The Elf that captured her and took her sword looked surprised upon taking a closer look, clearly realizing she was human. He must have thought that she was just an exceptionally tall Dwarf. _Do they not realize their women have beards?_ She thought to herself, before realizing that he probably didn't. When the Elf's eyes flicked to her braids, tipped with beads from Fili's own hair, his expression hardened into one of disgust. She was soon roughly searched and divested of her daggers. She was then thrown to the circle of captured Dwarves who had already been searched, the brown-haired Elf not sparing her a second glance. Bofur caught her easily before she could hit the ground.

“You okay, lass?” he whispered to her as he sat her down on the leaf-littered ground.

“I'll live,” Moira muttered. “Thanks for catching me.”

“Think nothin' of it.”

Not far from the circle of captives where Bofur stood and Moira sat, Fili was being searched. He stared up silently but defiantly as he handed the green-clad Elf the small daggers he kept in his vanbraces, and the throwing ax from his boot (its twin was buried in a spider's head somewhere). The Elf frowned at him and reached into his fur coat, drawing out two more daggers. Fili made a face but endured the search stoically. Moira silently counted as the daggers came out. _Four, five, six, seven._ Didn't he have one more? The elf pulled one from behind his head, from a sheath in a hidden pocket of the collar of the coat. _Damn_.

Thorin was even further off, being searched by Legolas. He held Orcrist in his hands, running his long fingers along the smooth Elven blade in wonder. He said something in Elvish, and then addressed the Dwarf who had wielded the Elf-blade before he took it from him.

“Where did you get this?” the blonde Elf demanded of the raven-locked Dwarf in front of him, who still had spider webs covering his wild, dark mane of hair.

“It was given to me.” Thorin bit out. “Lord Elrond of Rivendell gave me permission to keep it.”

Legolas scoffed and held Orcrist's point to the Dwarf King's throat. “Not just a thief, but a liar as well.” Thorin's glare was _beyond_ fierce. If looks could kill, Legolas would surely be a tiny pile of smoking ash. The Elf Prince paid it no mind. Legolas' eyes roved the little group of captives, and his eyes fell on her, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow in surprise.

“What is a woman of Men doing with a roving pack of Dwarves?”

Moira glared. “None of your business.”

“If you won't tell me, you will tell my father.” He addressed one the soldiers, “When we get to the palace, take this one,” he gestured at Thorin with Orcrist, “and her,” the point of the ancient Elven sword was shoved in _her_ face now, “to my father.”

Moira knew it was stupid, but sometimes when she was scared out of her mind, sarcasm was an old defense she'd fall back on unconsciously. “I hope your father's the local wine merchant. Fighting those spiders made me thirsty.”

“You'd best show some respect.” Legolas responded icily. “He's the King of this Realm.”

“Oh good. He should have access to the best wine.”

“Hold your insolent tongue, woman, or lose it.” Moira was sure it was an empty threat, but she fell silent anyway. Fili was soon thrown beside her. “That wasn't very smart.” Fili whispered to her, but his tone held fondness.

“Couldn't help it. Must be that enchantment on these woods, affecting my judgment again.” She smirked at him.

“I'm sure that's it.” A slight smile was tugging at his lips.

Fili looked around then, and realized that his brother wasn't in the group of captives. “Where's Kili?” He yelled, a sudden raw desperation in his voice. Just then, Tauriel came into view, pushing a stumbling Kili in front of her. Fili breathed a sigh of relief.

The Elves soon began to march them forward. That was when Bofur noticed that Bilbo was missing, but of course, he couldn't do anything about it, besides whisper his observation to Thorin. They were marched along at too-quick a pace for what seemed like hours. When one of the Elf guards pushed her for not walking fast enough, Fili wrapped an arm protectively around her waist to keep her from stumbling, and glared at him. “Fili, it's okay,” she whispered. She heard some of the Elves talking quickly in Elvish, one of them gesturing at her and Fili, and then laughter. Moira guessed they had said something crude about her and Fili. She also thought she saw a faint frown of disapproval on Tauriel's face. _Interesting._ She could use that, just in case things changed and Bilbo failed in his barrel rescue. Moira had learned by now that her presence would change some events, and it helped to have as many back-up plans as possible.

When the massive doors of the Woodland Halls slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing in the vast caverns, Moira's heart clenched in apprehension. She would soon have to meet the Elvenking Thranduil, and he was much, much less friendly than the last Elf she had faced.


	15. Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Moira finally tells Fili the truth about herself .... some of it, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Khuzdul words:**  
>  Nadad = brother  
> Nadadlith = little brother  
> Amrâlimê = my love
> 
>  
> 
> I'm still learning Khuzdul, so if you see something that you think I messed up, please tell me!

Moira awoke with a groan, her head pounding. She lay in the dark for a few moments, trying to collect herself. She felt a cool breeze; the windows were open. It was nighttime, then. She was in her bed in the largest guest room of Bag End, which Bilbo that officially declared 'hers' when she left for her ranging last spring. Her feet, as usual, hung off the end of the bed, but it was comfortable nonetheless.

There was a throbbing pain in her forearm, and the sensation bought the memories rushing back. _Shit_. Right before Bilbo had cast the arcane mark into the fire, _he_ had said that he had found her. _Did he really? Or was he lying to scare me?_ That would be something he'd do, a way to destroy her life, her peace of mind and sense of safety, make her feel she had to run again, whether he could find her physically or not. She closed her eyes again, stilling her breathing, and reached out with her mind, as she had been taught. Magic worked differently in Middle-Earth. If all was well, she shouldn't be able to feel anything at all. _Fuck_. The connection was weak, very weak, but it was there. That … was not good. Cutting off the mark should give her time, at least. He wouldn't be able to hone in on her exact location like she was wearing a GPS device. She knew she should try to break the connection, but she shied away from the thin, vibrant cord between them, for now. She didn't want to risk passing out again. Not until she had a chance to explain herself.

She sat up, pushing the warm quilts (made by Bilbo's great-grandmother on the Baggins side, he'd told her) off of her legs. She moved carefully to avoid jostling the throbbing patch on her forearm where her skin was now missing. Lighting a candle near the bed, she took a moment to look at her arm, seeing that while she had been unconscious it had been bandaged. It felt like some kind of salve had been placed on it before being carefully and tightly wrapped in linen bandages. She had also been changed from her dirty (and possibly bloody) bodice and jacket. She still wore her leggings, but her shirt was a light blue button-up now. She had gone on the entire quest with only two changes of clothes, the same ones that she took with her when she went North, ranging. But Bilbo had insisted that she needed more than that if she was going to stay at Bag End for the winters. So he had commissioned a whole wardrobe of typical Hobbit clothing, sized up for her, from a local seamstress (another thing that she was sure added to the gossip that swirled around the two of them here in the Shire). The seamstress had overestimated her size, however, and some of the shirts were slightly too large. This was one of them. Moira absentmindedly wondered who had changed her. Probably Fili. He was the only one who had already seen her naked, after all.

The thought of Fili made a flood of guilt wash over Moira. He had said that she was his One, that he would never be able to love another in all his days, even if he lived for centuries after her. Moira wished she could offer him the same fidelity, but knew it was impossible. When she died she would cross universes again, and it was unlikely that her heart could stay wrapped forever in steel. She had tried that before. Sometimes, love was the only thing that made it worth living this damnable life, and she knew that try to avoid it as she might, she would fall in love again, once Middle-Earth was lost to her for good. Squaring her shoulders, Moira made a decision. She didn't know what would happen in the future, but for this lifetime at least, she was Fili's. Completely and totally. She would tell him so, after she explained everything. And if he still wanted her after he knew the truth, after everything …. Well, she couldn't think that far ahead yet. She had to get there first.

Moira cracked her bedroom door quietly. She really was going to tell them everything. But it had been _decades_ since she had told anyone, and she was terrified. She wanted to get some kind of idea of what mood her friends were in first. She crept down the dark hall, carrying the little flickering candle, towards the hushed voices.

She heard Bilbo's voice first. “She screams in her sleep, sometimes, and I can hear her all the way down the hall. I haven't the faintest idea how she can sleep safely in the wild while she is ranging, if she dreams the same when she's out there.”

“But she hasn't told you anything about her dreams?” Kili asked that question, and then Fili followed it up with some of his own, sounding frustrated. “You don't know who this sorcerer that's tormenting her is? She's never said anything, maybe something that seemed strange, or innocent at the time, that makes more sense now?”

“No, nothing. I've no idea what was happening earlier. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more helpful, I really do.”

A heavy sigh. “It's okay Bilbo, no one knows more than I how guarded Moira can be.” Fili's voice was heavy with sadness now, and Moira hated being the cause of it. Before she could change her mind, she stepped forward, so they could see her standing in the hallway, through the round doorway to the kitchen.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, hi.” For a moment they all just looked at her. Moira chewed her lip nervously, shifting her weight from foot to foot, wanting nothing more than to run. Suddenly, they all started talking at once.

“Are you okay?”

“What _happened_ , Moira?”

“Who was hurting you?”

When she unconsciously started to back away from them, overwhelmed, it was Fili who took charge. “Okay, that's enough!” His voice was commanding. He went into full Prince Mode, having learned from three years at Thorin's side in Erebor. “Bilbo, get her something to drink. Kili, go get the bandages. I'm going to check the dressing on her arm before we talk.”

Bilbo and Kili gaped at him for a second, before hurrying to do as he said. Fili stood and approached her slowly. “Would you allow me to check your arm, Moira?” he spoke softly, soothingly. She knew he was doing his best not to spook her. When she nodded, he took the candle from her hand, set it on the kitchen table, and then led her to a comfortable armchair in Bilbo's living room. Fili kneeled in front of the armchair and took her arm gently in his hands, unweaving the linen strips, stained yellow by the salve. Moira watched him as he concentrated on his work. He was controlling his curiosity well, while he took care of her first. She was grateful for the short reprieve. Despite the throbbing pain in her forearm, Moira savored the feeling of Fili's fingertips gently grazing her skin as he worked. It had been _so_ long.

When the old bandages came completely away from her arm, Fili winced as he caught sight of the ugly red wound beneath. Kili soon entered the room, carrying clean bandages and a little jar of ointment. He smiled at her, but for once, he didn't say anything. The sight of her arm kept him quiet. He simply handed the supplies to his brother, and dragged a three-legged stool over to sit nearby as Fili worked. When Fili had cleaned the wound again, applied the salve, and wrapped her arm in the fresh bandages, he placed a careful, gentle kiss to her palm, making Moira suck in a breath. “Will you speak with us now?” His voice was a soft, reassuring murmur.

She nodded. That was when Bilbo stepped forward, holding out a cup of tea. Moira had been so focused on Fili that she had not realized that he had joined them in the living room.

She smiled at him, trying to look grateful. “Actually, Bilbo, if I'm going to tell this story, I'm going to need something a lot stronger than tea. And I have a feeling you guys will, too. Would you mind breaking into the ale?”

“Oh! I-I suppose not.” the Hobbit scurried away and for a few more moments Moira was left alone with the two Dwarf princes. Suddenly she felt the need to apologize.

“I'm sorry, Fili.”

He looked up at her, surprise in his beautiful blue eyes. “For what?”

She smiled sadly. “For everything.”

Before he could respond, Bilbo returned with three tankards of ale. He apparently didn't want one for himself. After passing one to each of his guests, he dragged two wooden chairs over, one for himself and one for Fili, and picked up the cup of tea that had been meant for her. Fili placed his chair directly across from the armchair that Moira sat in.

“Okay lass, we're all here for you. We want to help you. Can you explain what happened, and who it was that was tormenting you today?”

Moira sighed. “I can't start there. It's a long, very complicated story. And there's some … stuff … that I have to explain first. About who I am, and where I come from.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, to start with, I'm not from around here.”

“We know that already!” Kili, ever impatient, started to interrupt, before Bilbo shushed him.

“No, you don't understand. I'm not from Middle-Earth. Actually, I'm from outside Arda altogether. I was born in another world.”

Moira watched them carefully so as to gauge their reaction. Kili and Bilbo were both slack-jawed. Fili, however, looked way too calm. Her confession did not seem to surprise him much. That confirmed the suspicions that Moira had at the back of her mind since the night outside Mirkwood. Fili had figured that part of her story out a long time ago. _He's way too smart, damn him_ , she thought to herself. And then, _That's probably part of why I love him._

“How long have you suspected?” She asked Fili, causing both Kili's and Bilbo's heads to swivel in his direction, mouths still open. He ignored them.

“A while. How did you come to be in Middle-Earth, then?” Fili answered her question with another question. Fair enough. She had done the same to him enough times.

 _Here goes_. She looked directly into his bright sapphire eyes as she answered. “I died.” _That_ surprised him. It was written all over his face. She waited to see if he was going to say anything before she carried on. He did. “So, after you …. died, you what, just woke up in Middle-Earth?” He asked.

He was taking this really well. Too well. _Now the harder part_. “No.”

“But you just said – ”

“I woke up in a place called Westeros, in the middle of a war zone. I had to learn to fight, while I was there, in order to survive. Westeros … is not a kind place, especially when they're at war, especially to women.” She looked down at her drink before continuing, not able to bear the weight of Fili's shocked eyes anymore. “Particularly to nameless, obviously foreign women like me. And I was just a stupid little girl back then, I wasn't the warrior I am now.” She thought about how to say the next part and decided to just simplify the story a bit. She avoided any of their eyes as she went on. “I met a man named Jamie Lannister not long after I arrived. And if it hadn't been for him, things would've have been much, much worse for me. If it hadn't been for him, I'd have been gang-raped in a ditch within a week, and that's being generous. Whether or not they killed me afterwards. Jamie is the person who first taught me to use a sword, and he protected me ... until I could protect myself.” She was silent for a moment, a sad expression on her face, before she visibly shook herself, shaking memories away.

“Anyway. I was there for several years, before I died again. And then,” she took a huge gulp of her ale, “I woke up somewhere else, again. That world was more similar to the one I born in, so the adjustment was less intense, but it was … different. It doesn't matter how, right now. But it was no less dangerous than Westeros. Less rape-happy, thankfully. I died from a gunshot wound in that one.” another gulp of her ale. “You don't know what a gun, is, I know. It's a weapon that shoots small projectiles called bullets ... It's kind of like a small crossbow, but small enough to hide on your person, and ten times as deadly – you know what, it's not important. All you need to know is that I died, again. And crossed into another universe, again.”

Her shocked audience was completely spellbound, waiting for her to go on. There were simply no words that Fili could think of to respond with. He didn't know what he had been expecting her story to be, but by Durin's beard, it wasn't _this_. Moira gulped all her ale now, draining her tankard completely. When she finished, she stared into the empty mug as she continued, “It's been, I think, about 150 years since this started, maybe a little less, maybe a little more. It's kind of hard to tell, since different worlds have different ways of measuring time. Some places have longer or shorter years. Hell, the seasons in Westeros last for years. I showed up at the end of the longest summer in living memory, _a 10 year summer_ – if you can imagine such a crazy thing! – and it was winter when I died. All that makes it difficult to calculate, exactly, but I think it's been around a century and a half now.”

“ _Mahal_ ,” Kili breathed. Bilbo sat there blinking, just blinking, over and over. Fili knew he probably looked as stunned as they did.

“Yeah.” was all Moira said. When she looked down hard into her empty mug, Fili silently pushed his half-empty tankard towards her. He had stopped drinking a while ago. Her story was making his head swim enough, and she looked like she needed it. She mumbled a “thank you”, not looking at him as she took it from his hands. She placed the empty tankard on the floor by the armchair, and pressed forward, punctuating her words with large sips of the dark, foamy ale from Fili's mug.

“I've died lots of times, in lots of ways.” Swig. “ I've been shot,” swig. “Poisoned,” swig. “I've been stabbed – lots of stabbings, I've died in battle many times.” A full gulp now. “Sickness, once or twice.” swig. “Hanging a couple of times.” swig. “Even a crazed bull, once.” another gulp. “One time I was almost burned at the stake, but I managed to avoid that, thank the Gods. Dying is traumatic enough without the memory of what it feels like to burn alive.” several gulps now. Fili suddenly wondered what it must have taken for her to even join their quest, to face Smaug, knowing that if she died by dragonfire, she'd remember every detail when she awoke.

“Only once, _just one time_ , did I live a full, mostly happy life into old age. I had a husband, children, grandchildren, an entire lifetime. Guess which one?” She directed that question at Fili, looking him in the eyes for the first time since she had mentioned this 'Westeros' place.

“The Vikings?” he responded weakly. It made sense … as much any of this … _insanity_ could be said to make sense.

“The Vikings.” Moira confirmed. “I was hoping, really hoping, that would be my last death. That Odin would welcome me into Valhalla. Or at least, that there would nothing. Just oblivion.” Tears were in her fathomless brown eyes now. Fili felt a great wave of pity. This fate was unimaginable. She gulped more of the alcohol and then she forced herself onward, returning to staring at the tankard. “But I woke up again, and I was young. Reality doesn't just take a new shape when I die, my body somehow snaps back to the condition it was in when I died the first time. I lost all my scars, all the tattoos I had earned, and as far as fighting goes, I had to re-condition my body to respond the way I remembered it responding. I have to do that every time, actually, and it takes years to retrain, even if I remember all the movements and techniques.”

She kept going. The floodgates were open now. _Who knows how long she's been keeping this to herself?_ Fili thought as she continued. “Every time hurts. Physically and emotionally. The pain of the death is still fresh, but the wound itself is gone. I have to start completely over again, learn my new world, rather it's run by science or by magic, learn places, races, everything. Each time I'm like a child that has been kept locked in a basement all their life and was just let out, wandering around not knowing what is obvious to everyone else. That's the most dangerous time, when I'm most likely to die. I have to re-learn everything, sometimes even learn new languages before I can communicate with anyone. And I am condemned to spend another lifetime there, wherever 'there' is, until I die again.” Her voice got suddenly quieter. “I'm terrified, every single time, when it happens. Even as I hope that I won't wake up somewhere else again, I'm still terrified.”

She took several more gulps of the ale that Fili had given her. “Sometimes I think that maybe none of this is really happening, that I've gone completely crazy, just like my mother did. That I'm really catatonic in an institution somewhere, drooling on myself. All I know is that everything _feels_ so real. Pain feels real – I've given birth more than once, I've been seriously wounded, even tortured. I've been hungry to the point of starving, cold to the point of freezing, exhausted to the point of nearly dropping dead in my tracks. Everything feels _**SO. DAMN. REAL.**_ So I have to act like it is, assume that it is real, that this IS reality. At least until I really do lose my mind, which honestly,” a bitter laugh erupted from her throat, “Is probably gonna happen one day. Who can keep all this straight forever? That's what I thought was happening in Mirkwood.” She directed that comment at Fili, grinning a humorless grin that unsettled him somehow. “It was earlier than I thought, mind you. I thought I would be able to hold on for a few more centuries, at least. Of course, it wasn't me, it was just that damned place. It _did_ give me a glimpse of what may happen to me someday, though.”

Moira drained the tankard, her second one. Fili wanted more than anything to comfort her, but he had no idea how. So he fixed the only thing he could. He silently took the tankard from her hands and went to fill it up again (Kili had completely drained his at some point), hurrying back to find that she had waited for him to return before continuing. Moira sat with her head down, looking at her hands in her lap. Kili and Bilbo just stared at her. There was an uncomfortable silence between the human, Dwarf, and Hobbit. It was almost suffocating. When he handed the tankard to her, once again she muttered a “thank you,” without looking at him, and took several large gulps before going on with her story.

“I don't have any idea why this is happening to me. None at all. I've tried to break this curse, or whatever it is, with the help of some very powerful wizards, in more than one universe. I met _Merlin_ , for fuck's sake!” She acted like they should know that name, but then caught herself and sighed. “None of you know who Merlin is. Of course you don't. But where _I'm_ from, that name is practically synonymous with 'magic' or 'wizard'. Unfortunately, I met him when he was a green 19-year-old kid still learning to control his powers, instead of a wise, powerful old wizard who might've been able to help me.” She sighed and took another sip of the ale. “In more modern worlds, I've tried to use science to investigate this … thing … that is happening to me. I've been poked and prodded and experimented on.” Her voice became harsh and angry – “Nothing! There are just no answers. I gave up on finding answers or a way out a long time ago.”

She sighed, her voice softening to a gentler, sadder tone yet again. “Now I just try to do some good while I can, since the only thing I get to keep are memories. I accumulate skills like nobody's business. So I may as well fight. After all,” a tone of black, bitter humor that Fili was intimately familiar with entered her tone. “Death has no hold on me, so if my death can protect somebody for whom it would be more permanent, why not?”

She sat back in her chair, holding her ale in front of her face and looking over it at all the three of them. “So, that's who I really am. Or what. I dunno if I even count as human anymore. And I haven't even gotten to explaining what happened earlier today.” Her eyes landed on each of them in turn.“You guys okay? Do you need a break?”

Fili's jaw dropped. “You're asking if _we're_ okay?” He burst out. He realized, too late, that he sounded angry, although he hadn't meant to.

He saw her wince at his tone, but she met his eyes. “It's a lot to absorb.” She shrugged, and because she didn't know what else to do, took another gulp of the drink. “Now's the time for you to ask questions before we get into the whole mess of what happened earlier.”

For a frightening, deafening moment, no one spoke.

“How many worlds have you … lived in?” The quiet inquiry came from Bilbo.

“21. No! Wait.” Fili was stupefied when Moira actually had to sit down her drink on the small table beside the armchair and _count on her fingers_ , muttering to herself quietly as she did so. “Sorry, 23. A couple of them I only lasted a few weeks in. That's not counting Middle-Earth, so I guess now the number is 24. Wow, I finally hit two dozen.” The casualness of that last sentence got under Fili's skin, but he didn't know why. She picked up the tankard again, but didn't drink from it this time. Fili noticed that she was gripping it so tightly that her knuckles were white, holding it in front of her like a shield. “Please tell me you believe me.”

Fili's mouth suddenly went dry, and he found he couldn't speak. Thankfully, Bilbo answered for him. “Of course we believe you.”

His brother added, “It's too preposterous to be a lie. No one could possibly make something like that up.”

Fili saw that Moira's eyes were glistening, and she avoided his gaze now. He berated himself for not speaking up before Bilbo and Kili did; she needed his assurances more than theirs. But his head was spinning. He couldn't focus. Suddenly, he didn't think he could breathe if he stayed in the hobbit-hole for one second longer. “I need some air.” he managed to mutter while getting to his feet. He thought he saw Moira nod mutely, but the edge of his vision was blurry by the time he started to rush for the door. Kili made a hurried apology to Moira and followed him, but Fili didn't hear him.

As soon he got a few steps from the door of Bag End, Fili doubled over, his hands on his knees, his hair spilling over his shoulders and hiding the world from view. Not having to pretend to be calm anymore, his breathing quickened. This was insane. This was just insane. She had died. She had _**died**_ , over and over. His One had _**died**_ , 23 times! No wonder Moira had been so resistant to giving into her feelings, knowing she would eventually lose him and have to start all over again. How could he _possibly_ help her?

Fili heard the door open and close quietly, and he didn't need to look to know that it was his ever-loyal brother. 

“Are you alright, Nadad?”

He looked over his shoulders at his dark-haired, beardless baby brother. “It's insane, Nadadlith. It's just … it doesn't make sense!”

“I know.” Kili looked sad, then suddenly worried. “You believe her, though, don't you, Fili? I can't believe she'd just make something like that up.”

Fili straightened up, looking to the night sky above, as if asking the shining stars a silent question. “She could just be mad.” Fili had to say it, although he didn't believe it.

“I don't think so ...” Kili said thoughtfully.

“Nor I.”

Kili leaned against the wall, next to the rounded green door of Bag End, looking contemplative. After a moment, Fili joined him in slouching against the wall. Any support right now was a good thing. They just stayed there, silent, thinking. This revelation changed so much about what Fili had assumed to be true, and he was struggling to adjust. Fili had thought he was the older one in their relationship. After all, she was Manfolk and he was a Dwarf. As it turns out, she was at least twice his age. No wonder she had referred to him and Kili as 'kids', at least in the beginning days of the quest. She had stopped that after a while. Perhaps as she came to see him as a potential partner, he mused.

 _Mahal, why? Why would you make her my One?_ There had to be a reason. There just had to be. Fili couldn't believe that his Maker would make bring her to him, only to rip her from this life and thrust her into another at the end of their days together, condemned to live this horrid cycle forever. Mahal could not possibly be that cruel. There had to be a reason. He must be meant to break the cycle for her, to put an end to her lonely wandering through eternity and heal her. Yes, that was it. That was the only explanation. It had to be. He would do that for her, he resolved. He had no idea _how_ , but he would. He would find a way. He had to.

Then it occurred to him that they still had to deal with whatever had happened earlier. “We should go back in, Kee. There's still more to discuss.” Fili sighed. He was already emotionally worn out. He could only imagine how Moira was feeling.

When they entered, they saw that Bilbo had moved to sit on the arm of the overstuffed armchair, making him about the same height as Moira, and he had his arm around her as she cried into his chest. Fili's heart froze in his chest. Were she and Bilbo …? No, no, it couldn't be.

Neither the human nor the Hobbit heard them enter. Bilbo was rubbing her back gently. “Shh, shh, I'm sure he was just overwhelmed. Like you said, it's a lot to take in.”

Guilt flooded Fili for suspecting his One and his friend. She was scared and vulnerable, she had bared her soul, and when she had asked if he believed her, all he had said was “I need some air.” He had made her cry. Again. He walked over to the chair, and Bilbo looked up at him before Moira did. She was crying too hard to notice. Bilbo's arm tightened around the Ranger protectively, and the look the Hobbit leveled at him was fiercer than Fili would have thought it could've ever been when he had first met him so long ago. His face was clearly asking Fili what he was intending to say to her. Fili gave Bilbo a look that he hoped communicated his intentions. It must have sufficed, because the Hobbit silently slipped off the chair, leaving Moira swaying and confused when the living support she was leaning into disappeared. Fili kneeled in front of her again, as Bilbo and Kili disappeared into one of the back rooms of Bag End, giving them some privacy.

Fili took her hands in his. Her tearful eyes met his, and he could see both a sadness deep enough to drown in, and a tiny spark of hope in their depths. “Moira, I believe you. Bilbo was right, it was just a lot to hear. You must know that.” Her lip trembled. Fili stroked her hands with his thumbs, “Please forgive me for making you cry, amrâlimê.”

Her long, dark hair fell about her shoulders in unbraided waves. He had never seen it this long. Even with her face stained with tears, Fili thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Moira stared at him for a second. Then, to his surprise, she launched himself at him, grasping his neck in her hands and pressing her lips to his desperately. He recovered quickly and took her in his arms, working his mouth on her lips, slipping his tongue inside to meet hers, trying to show her all of his love and acceptance in that one kiss. When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his, and Fili thought his heart would burst.

“I thought you'd reject me once you knew,” she whispered.

“Never," he replied fervently, and he meant it with all his heart. They still had more to talk about, and he still needed to know who this sorcerer was, but for now, all Fili was going to do was hold his One was reassure her of his devotion. _If I have to, I'll cross worlds for her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a long time thinking about how someone would react to hearing news like that from someone they cared about, so hopefully I was able to make Fili's reaction somewhat realistic...


	16. At the Mercy of Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil is an asshole and Thorin is less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Khuzdul words:**  
>  Caragu = dung (curse word)  
> Amrâlimê = my love

_back on the quest, in the Halls of the Woodland Realm ..._

The cavernous halls of Thranduil were beautiful, in their own way, but Moira was too preoccupied to appreciate it. Fili had not taken his arm from around her since she had stumbled in the forest after the Elf guard had pushed her. When the guards separated Thorin and Moira from the other prisoners, Fili growled and made as if he was going to fight them, but Moira stopped him. “Fili, stop! I'll be fine, it's okay. Don't give them an excuse to hurt you.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly, before she was ripped away and led up a stone staircase. Fili kept casting panicked and worried glances over his shoulder as he and the rest of the Company was herded in the opposite direction. Moira definitely saw Tauriel cast a sympathetic glance Fili's way, before the She-Elf caught herself and slid a mask of indifference back onto her face. _Strange, considering Tauriel is the CAPTAIN of the Guards, not just any guard,_ Moira mused. _The back-up plan might be easier to put into motion than I thought._

She didn't have much time to think about the specifics of 'Operation Gain Tauriel's Sympathy'. Legolas led Thorin and Moira across a thin stone walkway, followed behind by several more Elven guards. Walking across the thin walkway was a little unnerving, considering how high above the bottom of the cavern it was. Moira hadn't yet had a death caused by falling a great height, and she most definitely _did not_ want to add memories of plummeting to the ground to her collection of traumatic experiences. “Do Elves not believe in handrails?” she whispered to Thorin. He gave her an annoyed and slightly confused glare (and only Thorin could pack so many different emotions into a glare, for Odin's sake!). Moira sighed and just dropped the subject. She might technically have a lot in common with Thorin, but he was also the worst company. Add to that, it had always seemed like he couldn't seem to decide whether he liked her or not, but now that she and Fili were …. whatever they were, she was firmly in the 'dislike' category. They walked the rest of the way to the throne room in silence.

The King of the Woodland Elves was lounging in a lazy way across his magnificent throne. The throne towered above the room, perched as it was at the top of a flight of pale stone stairs. It was flanked on either side by _humongous_ moose antlers, the kind that would be way to large to have been from a normal moose in the quote-unquote real world.

Thranduil himself was, like all Elves, almost unbearably beautiful, with long silky hair the color of flax, creamy skin without a single blemish, and perfect, sharp features. But when his unnaturally pale blue eyes lighted on Moira she felt chilled, as if there was a terrifying coldness in his soul that radiated outward through them. He had a hardness to him, a cold, pitiless aura that set off alarm bells screaming **Danger! Danger! Danger!** in Moira's head. This Elf was _not_ cut from the same kind, wise and understanding cloth as Elrond and the Noldor. No, this Elf saw all other races as being below him. His arrogance was written in every hard line of his face and the tiny smirk on his too-perfect lips as the prisoners were bought before him.

All of the snark and sarcasm that Moira had displayed with Legolas drained away. She would not have dared challenge Thranduil in such a way. Despite his beauty, Moira felt only fear when she looked at him. Something about the way he carried himself reminded her of someone else she had known. _No, don't think about him, not right now, you can't afford the distraction_ , she reprimanded herself.

“Father,” Legolas greeted the King. “We captured a troupe of 13 Dwarves in the forest. They also had a woman of Men among their number. I have bought the leader and the woman to you for questioning.”

Thaundril raised one eyebrow at them, the same gesture that his son had made when he had first noticed Moira. His eyes lighted first on Moira, lingering on her just a moment too long, before turning to the Dwarf King, who stood straight and tall. Well, as tall as a Dwarf could. Still, he was not cowed by the Elf at all. It was obvious that this was a meeting of equals, that despite the height differences they were both the proud kings of their people. 

“It has been a long time since Thorin Oakenshield has traveled this far East. Where does your journey end, I wonder?”

If Thorin was surprised that Thaundril knew who he was, he hid it well. In fact, he did not respond at all. He fixed his face in a stony expression. This caused the Elvenking to finally rouse from his lounging position on the throne and descend the stairs, gliding with the typical Elven grace. From him, it couldn't help but appear menacing. _Or maybe he's projecting the menace on purpose. Dwarves are their ancestral enemy_ , Moira reminded herself. As he glided down the stairs he continued to speak:“Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary. Or something of that ilk.”

The Elvenking came to stand before Thorin, but started to circle him as he spoke. “You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: the King's jewel, the Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that. There are gems in the Mountain that I too desire. White gems of pure starlight.” 

Thorin looked skeptical but said “I am listening.”

“I will let you go if you but return what is mine.”

“A favor for a favor?” Thaundril seemed pleased at Thorin's response, but Moira recognized the Dwarf King's bitter chuckle. She would not have had to have seen the movie to know that Thorin would never agree. She was getting to know all of the Dwarves pretty well by now, and Thorin was incredibly stubborn, even for a Dwarf. 

Thaundril inclined his head towards Thorin.“You have my word. One king to another.”

Thorin made a 'hmph' sound, turning his back on the Elvenking. Moira could see the anger building in the tenseness of his corded muscles. When Thorin turned back to the tall, blonde Elf, his rage burst forth. “I would not trust Thranduil, great King, to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us! You, who lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends! We came to you once, homeless, starving, and you turned your back on us!”

But here Thaundril's response to Thorin's outburst and the Khuzdul curses spewed at him took a different path than either book or movie. His unnatural eyes glinted, an unsettling smile spreading on his fair face, and instead of responding to Thorin, he turned to Moira. “And, what is a woman of Men doing with a group of Dwarves? What interest would you have in Erebor?” The King of the Silvan Elves circled her like a predator. Moira stood tall.

“My business is my own.”

“Those are Dwarven braids in your hair, if I'm not mistaken.” Thaundril came back to stand in front of her and bent down so that their faces were completely level. He was far too close to her and was definitely getting in her personal space. Moira refused to give ground. She knew what he was doing and would not show weakness by backing up.

“Are you pledged to one of them?” His voice was low and silky, and with him this close to her, Moira was having difficulty not conjuring up images of another threatening ruler, one from another world, another lifetime, but who nonetheless still haunted her dreams. 

“The human is of no consequence!” Thorin snapped, trying to draw Thaundril's attention back to him and away from Moira. The Elvenking ignored Thorin and reached a long, thin finger out and stroked her braids, causing Thorin to throw himself at him, snarling. The Dwarf was held back by several Elvish guards, but he continued to fight, spewing Khuzdul curses as he did so. Moira's eyes widened, but still she refused to back up.

“Are you his?” Thaundril's voice was a whisper, and he glanced at Thorin with … well, it couldn't really be called a smirk, it was too cold and detached for that, but the expression was close. The eyes though … the light in the eyes was terrifying.

“No.” Moira responded, struggling to sound calm, even with images of a crueler king, dark-haired instead of blonde, swimming behind her eyes. The Elvenking's fingers were still touching her hair, fingering the beads at the end of the braid now.

“Hmm. Perhaps you are the Dwarves' whore, then?”

She heard Thorin snarl, and Moira knew her own features were twisting in disgust. Before she could respond, Thaundril yanked hard on her braid, making her yelp in pain. Then all of a sudden his lips were on hers and his tongue was in her mouth. Her hands came up reflexively to push him away, but the hand that wasn't painfully pulling her braid grasped both of her wrists in an iron hold. She could vaguely hear Thorin bellowing and struggling. Caught in the Elf's impossibly strong grip, she did the only thing she could. As his tongue speared into her mouth, she bit down, hard. She tasted copper, and before she knew it, she was on the ground. He had backhanded her when she bit him. When Moira looked up, she saw Tauriel's shocked face at the back of the group of guards. She must have finished imprisoning the others and come up to the throne room to report to Thranduil. Evidently she had caught at least the last part of his performance.

Climbing back up to his throne, Thaundril addressed Thorin in an haughty manner. “Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I'm patient.” Turning to the guards, he commanded, “Take them to the dungeons. And place the woman in a cell with whichever Dwarf she prefers. They may wish to _comfort_ each other.” He actually leered in Moira's direction. “And if not, perhaps I'll pay her a visit myself.” 

“You're a pig!” Moira yelled as the guards led them away. Legolas and Tauriel fell in step behind them, and she didn't miss the disturbed looks on both of their faces.

On their way to the dungeons, Moira whispered to Thorin, “Thank you for defending me. Or trying to.” 

Thorin looked at her in surprise, but quickly covered it. “Did you think that I would not?”

Moira shrugged. “You don't seem to like me very much.”

Thorin's blue eyes, so like Fili's, blazed with anger. “Just because I don't approve of what's going on between you and my nephew, doesn't mean that I want to watch you be molested by that ... that ... _Elf!_ ” He snarled. Apparently he couldn't think of a worse insult than Elf. “You are a member of my Company and I am responsible for you. That piece of _caragu_ had no right to touch you in such a manner!”

His voice raised on his last sentence, and he glared at all the Elves around them. Tauriel had the decency to look ashamed. _Thaundril has no idea what a favor he did me. This is going to be easier than I thought._

After Thorin was placed in his cell, glaring daggers at Legolas and Tauriel all the while, the red haired Elf-maiden placed a hand on Moira's shoulder. Tauriel avoided her eyes as she asked in an unusually quiet voice, “The blonde one, yes?”

Moira couldn't help but bristle. “His name is Fili. But yes.”

“I want you to know, I am very sorry for my king's behavior.”

“Oh, that makes it all better then!” Moira replied sarcastically. She almost felt bad when she saw Tauriel flinch, but this had to be done. “You heard what he said. He's not done with me.”

“I'm sure that was an empty threat.” Tauriel looked less certain than she sounded. “To ... try to get information out of your leader.”

“He _had_ all the information he needed. He was going it because Thorin didn't give him what he wanted. The longer I'm here the more likely he'll make good on his threat.” Moira wasn't actually sure if she believed that would happen, but it was important that Tauriel did. Or at least had some seeds of doubt planted in her consciousness. “And a hundred years is a long time. That's a lifetime for me.”

When the doors of the cell opened, Fili leapt to his feet and rushed to embrace her. After giving him a quick hug, Moira turned and addressed Tauriel through the bars.

“At least your people aren't at war. Men get worse when they're at war.”

“An Elf would never –”

“An Elf just did, remember?” That did it. Tauriel's jaw dropped, and her mouth opened and closed, trying to think of something to say. _Good. Now she needs to think about that for a while. This might actually work._

Fili's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

Obviously not wanting to face him, Tauriel abruptly pirouetted and left, going so fast that her flame-colored hair stayed behind her for a moment. Fili turned to Moira for answers. But as he opened his mouth to demand them, Moira cut him off before he started.

“Can we sit down first, Fili?” She suddenly felt very tired, the whole debacle with the spiders finally catching up to her. Fili looked surprised, but nodded.

He sat on the stone bench/bed, and Moira joined him, slipping under his arm to snuggle into his side, breathing in his reassuring scent. He smelled of pine and woodsmoke. Fili froze in surprise, but his hand went to stroke her hair almost immediately. Now that she was no longer having to stay strong in front of Thaundril or Thorin, or think about what she would say to Tauriel, what had happened was hitting her, as was Thaundril's threat. Being in a cell wasn't helping. She hated being caged like an animal. It reminded her of some of the bad things that had happened in Westeros, where she had ended up in a cage almost immediately upon arrival. At least this one was sheltered from the elements.

“Amrâlimê, tell me what happened.” Fili was obviously worried when he saw her reaction and the exchange with Tauriel, but he kept his voice reassuring as he stroked her dark hair.

“Their king is an asshole.”

Fili chuckled at her vulgarity. “Well, he's an Elf. Is that all?”

“No, I mean he's really sick.” 

Fili's tone was suddenly dangerous. “What did he do?”

“When he noticed my braids, he called me a whore, and he …. kissed me.”

“WHAT?!” the stroking on her hair stopped.

“I bit him and he hit me.”

Fili growled in anger and held her to him tighter.

“There's more.... Don't freak out.” 

Moira lifted her head to look him in the eyes now. His blue orbs were dark and stormy, an expression she had never seen in their sapphire depths. His eyes _really_ looked like Thorin's when he was angry.

“He might have threatened to …. “visit” me in the cells.”

A long string of Khuzdul curses came from Fili then. Although she didn't know what they meant, Moira was sure that they were probably colorful enough to make Dwalin blush, which was saying something.

“I'm sure it was an empty threat to scare me or make Thorin mad.” She added quickly. “At least I hope so.”

“It better be.” Fili was still growling. He lifted his hand to her face, holding her chin gently, and took a good look, which wasn't easy in the dim light at the back of the cell. “I think I can see the mark. How hard did he hit you?”

“Pretty hard. I was on the ground before I realized what had happened.”

“That dishonorable piece of Orc filth –”

Fili was surprised when Moira cut him off by pressing her lips to his, kissing him hard. Her teeth were biting his lips, her tongue was probing between them insistently, seeking entrance to his mouth, as her hands held onto the fur collar of his coat. After recovering, he kissed her back, gathering her in his arms as he worked his lips on hers, darting his tongue out to tangle with hers. The kiss was desperate, passionate, causing heat to spread through both of them, and soon they had to pull away for air. 

“I don't want to talk about him Fili. And I don't want the taste of him in my mouth.”

Fili nodded in understanding, not trusting himself to say anything. He kissed her again, gently this time, his lips working softly, so softly, she almost didn't believe he was there. His tongue darted out to teasingly lick her lips, dipping between them and retreating, before doing it again. When she let out a soft whine, he finally acquiesced and kissed her hard again, plundering her mouth, until he began to plant gentle kisses along her jawline, working his way up to her ear, licking and kissing the delicate shell, and then he returned to her mouth. They did that for a long time, just kissing, hands making soft caresses on each other's faces and bodies. Fili was determined to wipe the Elf's touch from her body and the memory of it from her mind, and every little sigh or gasp he managed to coax from her lips was a step in the right direction.

~000~

They were in Thaundril's cells for several days. Tauriel still had her sweet, somewhat flirty moment with Kili, talking about runestones and stars and the traditions of their people, so Moira's … experience with Thaundril hadn't changed that. When Legolas passed her cell, she saw guilt on the Elf Prince's face, and even more guilt on Tauriel's. Moira was looking for an excuse to talk to Tauriel again, to try to make a connection with the She-Elf and hopefully (eventually) convince her to let them go. 

Fili was a little disturbed to see Moira being so manipulative when she told him her plan, but she responded that sometimes you couldn't hack your way out every situation you were in. Sometimes the best (or only) weapon you could rely on was your mind. She had learned that in Westeros, where she had had to rely on her own wits as much as on Jamie's sword arm, but of course, she didn't say that. 

But before she had a chance to put phase two of the plan into motion, it turned out that she needn't have worried. Many of the Dwarves had given him up for dead at that point. But Bilbo still appeared one day, keys in hand, and the barrel escape was on. Despite Moira trying to prevent it, Kili was still shot by the Orc's Morgul poison arrow. Mixed with worry, Moira swore she saw relief on Tauriel's face as she watched them leave, carried downstream by the rapids of the River Running. When they finally came to a stop, on the stony shores of the river, it was there that they met Bard. 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Thranduil fans, I always found him _super_ creepy for some reason (in the movies anyway). And Middle-Earth is basically a Medieval-type world. Thranduil would probably respect an Elven woman, but a random human female travelling alone with 13 Dwarves, wearing Dwarven braids? I don't think this behavior is entirely improbable.


	17. Darker Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'm completely happy with this chapter. I've re-written it like 4 times. I think it's cuz chapter 15 was so talking-heavy, and I'm afraid that it's a bit too much. But the information has to come out before we can move forward with the story, so, here we go anyway.  
>  **Khuzdul words**  
>  amrâlimê = my love

I'm scared to get close  
And I hate being alone  
I long for that feeling  
To not feel at all  
The higher I get  
The lower I sink  
I can't drown my demons  
They know how to swim  
– Can You Feel My Heart  
by Bring Me The Horizon 

~000~

Moira wasn't sure how long they sat there on the floor of Bag End. Somehow she had ended up sitting on Fili's lap, nestled deep into his chest, breathing in his scent. Her face was nuzzling his neck, his strong arms were wrapped around her, cradling her like a child, and she had never felt safer. _But you're not safe_ , her traitorous mind reminded her. There was still so much more to tell him, and none of it was going to be easy. At least she knew he believed her before she got to this part.

“Fili,” she said softly, reluctant to ruin the moment, but knowing it was necessary. “There's more I need to tell you.”

He sighed. “I know.” He kissed her forehead. “Should I bring Kili and Bilbo back?”

Moira sighed. She didn't know how to answer that. “I don't know. They are going to need to know, too, but ...”

Fili gave her an appraising look. “Is it that bad?”

“Yes.” Her voice was quiet, and she avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the beads in his mustache braids. “It's very hard to talk about. It's much more … personal.” She was chewing her lip again, and the seriousness of her expression was causing a feeling of dread to grow in Fili's chest. He bought his fingers up to gently lift her chin, raising her dark eyes to meet his blue ones. His voice was soft as he asked, “Would you feel more comfortable just telling me, and I can fill them in for you later?”

Relief flooded through Moira at his suggestion, tears of gratitude prickling the corners of her eyes. “Yes. Please.”

Fili nodded. “Then that's what we'll do.”

She snuggled deeper into his chest, and was just about to start when he slid an arm under her knees and another around her back. He picked her up easily and carried her, bridal-style, to the armchair. This time he was the one who sat on the chair, arms continuing to cradle her. He seemed to know that she needed his touch. She knew that she would need it even more as she went on. She had never discussed this part of her story with anyone who had not been directly involved. Well, except for .... _No._ she stopped that thought before it started. No good came from thinking of _that_. One of her hands clutched the collar of Fili's tunic as he kissed her forehead. She was certain that he'd be able to feel the sudden tension in her body, and she forced herself to relax. She drew in a steadying breath before she continued.

“What happened today has never happened before. Well, it has, but not across worlds. I had no idea it was even possible. He's already died twice, though, I don't know if that has something to do with it. I'm starting to worry that he just comes back more powerful each time.”

“Who?” Fili said quietly, one of his hands rubbing circles gently on her back.

“His name … his name is Lord Darken Rahl, ruler of D'Hara. He's a sorcerer bent on conquering his own world and dominating everyone and everything. He's a very, very, _very_ dangerous man.... And he's obsessed with me, ever since he learned I had this – he calls it an 'ability', but I call it a 'curse' – since he learned I could go to other worlds. And now, somehow, he's managed to reach me through the barriers that separate realities. That's **_never_** happened before.” 

Fili was nodding at her, encouraging her to continue, as he gently rubbed her back in comfort.

“This was several worlds ago – I measure time in terms of the number of worlds I've crossed now, apparently – and it was a lot like this one. More medieval fiefdoms than modern democracies. Swords and sorcery instead of computers and cars – not that you know what those are, but it's not important. Only magic is much more prevalent there than it is in Middle-Earth. It was practically the lifeblood of the world. Anyway. That's how I ended up on a quest to kill this tyrant named Darken Rahl, along with a wizard, the Seeker of Truth and a Confessor.” She paused, before she realized she needed to explain what a Seeker and a Confessor was.

“The Seeker is a legendary hero that only arises in a time of great trouble and turmoil. This time the Seeker was a woodcutter's son named Richard Cypher. Confessors are women with … certain magical gifts that serve as judges in the Midlands, solving disputes, sorting out lies, protecting truth and justice. Or they're supposed to."

“Anyway, long story short, we did kill him, but even as a spirit the bastard could do all kinds of damage and eventually he was resurrected, and we had to start all over again. He had an entire country of loyal supporters, wizards who worked for him, besides his own magic, and countless soldiers. He's not an easy man to reach. 

“Eventually, during a mission, I was captured and taken to Rahl. Of course, he wanted information about Richard and about the Resistance to D'Haran rule.” Her voice dropped low. “Rahl tortured me.” The hand on her back froze, and Fili's eyes glittered dangerously.

“The Mord'Sith who serve him can give someone the breath of life, as long as they haven't been dead for too long. So even death is not a release. Meaning they can go farther than you normally could when torturing someone. I held on during all this, waiting to die,” her voice cracked a little, but she forced herself to go on, “because I figured that they wouldn't be able to revive me and I'd move on to whatever world I'd go to next. But I was wrong. And, somehow, he knew I was different as soon as he killed me. He could sense that my soul wasn't going to their Underworld, or something. His powers are so bound up with death, I should have realized it was a possibility. After he had me revived, the questions changed. He wants my power, if you can call it that. He probably thinks he can learn to control it and hop universes whenever he feels like it. I don't think it works like that, but it would still be a disaster if he somehow got my … ability.”

Moira's voice had dropped even lower, and Fili had to strain to hear what she said. “He broke me.” Her dark eyes were unseeing. Fili had no idea a person could look so haunted. “I told him everything, not just about me, about where I'm from, but also everything I knew about the Resistance.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I got a lot of good people killed.”

“You can't be held accountable for –”

“Stop. There's more I have to say. And if I start crying again, I may never stop this time.”

Fili fell silent, but his lips were twisted in a scowl that showed that he clearly wasn't happy about it.

She continued. “I told him everything I knew. But he still wasn't done with me. I found out later I was only in his dungeons for about a month, but it felt like longer. It felt like _years_. He doesn't just use … traditional torture methods. He uses black magic to muddle your mind, get inside your head, literally. The combination of the pain and the magic … He completely broke me, tore down everything I was, and built me back up into his own creation. I was his, in _every_ possible way.” Fili could see the shame on her face as she lowered her eyes, and he felt bile rising in his throat. “I became his favorite pet. And I was so … brainwashed, so under his control, that I would have done anything he asked, no matter how horrific. I _**did**_ do anything he asked.”

Moira took another shaky breath. “He started to send me on missions to find the other Resistance cells that I hadn't had direct knowledge of. They knew who I was and that I traveled with the Seeker, they knew that I had helped to kill Rahl the first time. They trusted me.” Her face twisted in pain. “They let me right in the front door. And I slaughtered them all.” Her voice suddenly sounded hollow. “I told you I've done horrible things.”

Fili had no idea what his face looked like, but he was glad that Moira couldn't bring herself to look at him. She was looking at her hands, which were fiddling with the edge of her blue button-up shirt nervously. When he realized she had stopped her story, he wrapped both his arms around her, holding her tightly, and kissed her hair gently. “That wasn't your fault. You were under a terrible spell.” He whispered, hoping he sounded reassuring and not as broken-hearted as he felt.

“I know, but I was still there. I still remember it. I can see the look in their eyes as their life drains out of them, felt their blood on my hands. It will haunt me til the day I die.” Her lips twisted into a humorless smirk. “And afterwards.”

He held her tighter, squeezing her arms. He had no words, so he just held her and let her continue. 

“Eventually, my friends managed to rescue me from the People's Palace. But I was so far gone, I fought them instead of my real enemy. I had to be knocked out for them to get me out of there. When I woke up, I tried to kill Richard. Richard couldn't bring himself to kill me, even in self-defense. He probably should have. I even taunted him about it, called him weak. I tried to kill my best friends in that world, all to please a man who had mercilessly tortured me, and would probably torture me again whether I succeeded or not, just because he felt like it. 

“Everything about Rahl is cruel, even his nickname for me. He calls me 'little dove' because he knows it reminds me of my first death. Cersei called me that, and she's the one who had me killed in Westeros. I mean, yeah, technically, that wasn't my _first _death. But that was before I understood my curse, and when I died in Jaime's arms, I really thought that was the end. Rahl likes to torment me by reminding me of that, because physical torture just isn't enough for him.__

____

____

“Cara managed to knock me out again, and when I came to I was bound and gagged, tied to a horse. They had no idea how to break Rahl's hold over me, and they had to be on move. When they made camp, they had to keep me tied to a tree to keep me from trying to kill Richard again. Or running back to the People's Palace, to Rahl. Zedd – the wizard – tried to break the magic that bound me to Rahl, but all he could do was weaken the connection. The brainwashing was still there, and still strong. I was tied to a tree or a horse for about a week. In the end, it was Cara who bought me back to myself. Somehow.” 

“Cara. You spoke of her in Rivendell.” Fili hadn't meant to say it, but it slipped out. He needed to find some purchase, to latch onto a small detail in Moira's story that he already knew, to convince himself that he knew this woman, this woman he loved with all his heart. This woman who he was realizing he hardly knew at all.

She looked at him again, her expression unreadable, but her brown eyes were sad. “She was just my sister-in-arms at that point. We weren't lovers yet. That happened afterwards. She … understood. Zedd, Kahlan, Richard, they were sympathetic, they cared about me, they wanted to help. But they could never understand. Richard understood better than some, after Denna, but Rahl is a different level.” She looked at her hands again. “Not that I would ever want them to. But Cara understood. Cara … was Mord'Sith. Mord'Sith are trained –” her features twisted into a scowl. “Rahl calls it training – when they are very young, like 8 or so.” Fili shuddered when he realized what that meant. “Rahl tortured me, broke me, but I was too old to be made into a Mord'Sith. I could never have Cara's power or her magic. But Cara … Cara was strong. Mord'Sith usually serve the Lord Rahl without question, with total devotion. She was the only one I've ever known who had broken Rahl's hold over her. We probably would not have been able to kill him the first time if she hadn't turned on him at the last moment. Somehow, she brought me back.”

Moira's face softened when she spoke about her former lover, and the admiration in her voice was plain. Fili couldn't help the sudden surge of jealousy, but he almost immediately felt guilt for that reaction. How could he begrudge her what small bit of comfort and affection she had managed to find after the absolute hell that this Rahl _**BASTARD**_ had put her through? 

“He's supposed to be dead though. Again. This last time it was supposed to destroy not just his body, but his spirit as well. Even as a spirit he managed to wreck so much destruction and death on the world, before he found a way to be resurrected and we had to work on killing him again. Zedd – our wizard – had a spell that was supposed to take care of him for good.”

She looked down at her bandaged arm. “Obviously, it must not have worked. I can even feel the cord connecting us. It's weak, but it's there. That must mean that he managed to weaken the walls between worlds, somehow. If he figures out a way to punch his way through, the consequences for Middle-Earth could be dire. He won't settle for conquering the Midlands and the Westlands in his own world, believe me. He'll burn everything and everyone in Middle-Earth down just so he could be king of the ashes.” 

Moira pulled back now to look Fili in the eyes, her small hands settling on his neck. “And he saw you, through my eyes. He …. threatened you.”

Fili felt his heart seize up. He worked to make sure it didn't show. She needed him to be calm. “Before you passed out, you said 'he found me'.”

“Did I?” Moira hadn't realized that she had said it out loud. “Look, he might have been lying. If he can't actually find me, then making me look over my shoulder for the rest of my life is something he'd do. But, just in case, we should prepare to leave the Shire. Cutting off the mark will give us time, at least. He won't be able to hone in on my exact location.”

“How much time?”

“I don't know. Could be anywhere from a few weeks to a few months. I would guess no more than six months, but it's hard to tell. There are a lot of crazy variables and mitigating factors here. However, if I can't break the magical connection between us, eventually he _will_ find me again.”

Fili nodded silently, and Moira placed her forehead against his for the second time that evening. 

“I'm sorry.” she whispered earnestly. “I'm so sorry I got you into this. If I had any idea he could find me, I swear – ”

“You'd what? Not love me?” his voice came out harsher than he had meant for it to, and he internally cringed at it.

“N-No,” Moira stuttered. “I'm pretty sure I'd have fallen in love with you no matter what. I just probably would have hidden my feelings better. I'd have tried harder to keep you safe. Safe from me.”

“Oh, amrâlimê,” Fili murmured. “I'm so sorry that all these horrible things have happened to you.” He could feel her start to tremble in his arms a little. “I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to protect you. We'll leave tomorrow, go to the Elves. We'll find Gandalf. I'll do whatever it takes.” She nodded, and Fili kissed her forehead. He heard her suck in a breath, and he gently glided his lips down her face, kissing the tip of her nose before taking her lips in a butterfly-soft kiss, gently working his mouth on hers. Her hands gripped his tunic as her eyelids drifted shut, responding to his gentle touch. Afterwards, she laid her head on his shoulder again, and they sat like that for some time, until Fili broke the silence.

“Lass?”

“Mmm?”

“Would you tell me your name? Your real name?”

She lifted her head and looked at him. “I'll tell you Fili, but only you, and only on the condition that you promise me not to use it. That girl died a long time ago, and I don't like to be reminded of her. I'm Moira now.”

Fili nodded, entirely sincere. “You have my word.”

She regarded him for a moment longer, before saying a single word, so low he almost didn't hear it. “Amber.”

If she hadn't looked so nervous, if he didn't known the gravity of her revelation, Fili almost could've laughed. A precious stone, formed from the crystallized sap of trees. _How appropriate_.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “but whatever you call yourself, I will always love you with everything I have.”

Her fingers glided on his neck, whisper-soft, and she gazed into the fathomless depths of his cobalt eyes. Moira felt like she could drown in the love she saw reflected there. It scared her, but she wanted nothing more than to do so. “Fili, I – ” she started, but almost choked up. She paused, collected herself, and then went on after a moment. “I love you more than I say. I've tried to fight it, for your sake as well as mine, but I can't. I can't promise you forever, because forever is a very real concept for me. I could very well live longer than any Elf. But at least they get to stay in the same place for their lives, unlike me. I don't know what's going to happen, I don't know if it's possible to stop this curse. But for this lifetime, at least, for as long as I'm in Middle-Earth, I'm yours, and _only_ yours.”

Fili's heart swelled. His mouth crashed on hers then, hungrily this time, desperately. It had been _so long_. He wanted to memorize the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms, the sound of her little sighs into his mouth. Just in case he lost her. Now he finally knew what it was that haunted her, what she was always running from. Fili had to admit he was overwhelmed, and yes, even a little panicked (although he wasn't going to tell her that – he had to be strong for her), but he was also elated that he could finally know her for real. And he knew in that moment that he'd do **_anything_** to keep her safe.

Suddenly Moira felt exhausted. Even though she had passed out earlier in the day, all she wanted to do right now was sleep. Hopefully, a deep, dreamless sleep. This had been the hardest discussion of her (very long) life. She felt more tired than she had in decades, emotionally raw, vulnerable, laid bare. The three tankards of ale she had drank over the evening probably didn't help much, either. She sighed deeply and uncurled herself from Fili's lap, standing up and stretching. His cunning blue eyes watched her silently.

“Will you lay down with me Fili? Until I fall asleep?” She held her hand out to him, and he took it, pulling himself up.

“Of course, amrâlimê,” he followed her to the bedroom, never letting go of her hand. 

~000~

Fili lay in the bed beside Moira, his arm propped up on his elbow, his cheek resting on the palm of his hand as he watched her sleep. Her breathing was shallow and slow, and for once her face was in an expression of peace. As much as he wanted to make love to her after three long years of separation, three long years of not knowing if she was dead or alive, she was too exhausted from her ordeal and had only asked that he hold her. He had complied, happy to be in her presence and feel her body next to his.

Fili ran his thumb along her smooth jawline. He was still feeling a need to touch her in order to reassure himself that she was really here, that he wasn't imagining it, that this wasn't some cruel dream. At his touch Moira sighed and murmured something in her sleep that he couldn't quite make out, before she snuggled deeper into his chest. He wrapped his arm around her slim body and pressed her back to him, burying his face in her long, dark hair. Her hair smelled of rosemary and the dark, loamy earth, and the familiar scent brought tears to his eyes. He had just gotten her back. He couldn't lose her now. 

He needed to get up. He needed to go find his brother and Bilbo, and relay the second part of Moira's story, as he'd promised her he would do. He would, he told himself, in just a few more minutes. As soon as he left this room he knew he'd be overwhelmed again by the enormity of what was happening to his One. They had to find Gandalf. They would probably have to seek out Lord Elrond at Rivendell, and Fili knew Moira would not be happy about that. But it must be done. He had no other ideas. And failure was not an option. Fili could not allow himself to consider what might happen to her if they didn't find a way to break her connection to this evil sorcerer from another world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you watch Legend of the Seeker, my Darken Rahl is going to a _**lot**_ darker than the one on the TV show. I always felt like the TV show let Rahl get away with too much because the actor is hot. I mean he flat out tortures people and in the books he's also a vicious rapist. So anyway my Rahl's going to be a combination of the Rahl from the show, the Sword of Truth books, and my own twisted imagination, which, fair warning, can be pretty damned twisted.


	18. Meeting Bard

_back on the quest, after escaping from the Elves...._

Moira felt like a drowned rat. She was soaked, so wet it seemed like she'd never be dry again. She coughed and heaved and spit from the water that had forced it way into her mouth and nose during the perilous escape down the river. The force of the rapids had dislodged one of the beads from her hair, completely undoing Fili's braid and leaving her hair hanging on that side of her face in wet, tangled clumps. The other side was still intact but she could feel it had loosened. Although short for a human, her legs were still cramped from being jammed tightly in the barrel. Her knees were scrapping along the bottom of the barrel and her legs bent painfully back. It was a tight fit and she was certain once she finally got out of it, the cramps would turn to shooting pains that would make it difficult to walk.

Thorin had grabbed a broken branch and was using it as an oar to steer himself where he wanted to go. “Anything behind us?” the Dwarf King called out to his Company. Moira forced herself to swivel around, grimacing at the pain it caused, in order to search the tree-lined shore with her keen Ranger's eyes. “Not that I can see.”

Bofur popped up, his ridiculous hat somehow still stuck to his head, spitting a long stream of water out of his mouth and looking around. “I think we've outrun the Orcs.” the ever-cheery Dwarf called.

Thorin's voice was as grim as his response: “Not for long, we've lost the current. Make for the shore!”

When she finally got to the rocky shore and crawled out of the barrel, the predicted pain in her legs began in earnest. She pulled herself from the water and onto the stones and lay stretched out flat, chest heaving, panting, trying to catch her breath as she waited for the stabbing in her calves to ease. “I'm okay.” She managed to say when Fili climbed out of his barrel next to her and gave her a look full of concern. “Go check on your brother.” He looked conflicted for a moment, but nodded and complied. Kili was the one who was shot, after all.

As Fili went to look at his brother's leg, Thorin was moving from Dwarf to Dwarf, checking quickly on everyone's well-being before continuing. “On your feet!” he soon commanded, causing Fili to protest. “Kili's wounded. His leg needs binding.”

Thorin shook his head emphatically, sending droplets flying from his mane of soaked dark hair. 

“There's an Orc pack on our tail. We keep moving.” It was the old adviser who spoke up next. “To where?” And so Thorin, Balin, Bilbo, and Dwalin had moved off to discuss their situation and the plan. During the conversation between the Company's leaders, Moira had managed to pull herself into a siting position and was massaging her punished and aching calves. Soon Thorin turned to his eldest nephew. “Bind Kili's leg. Quickly! You have two minutes.” Knowing that was the signal for what would happen next, Moira heaved a heavy sigh and forced herself to her feet. She swayed slightly, ignoring the stab of pain in her cramped legs, and took a few steps to try to get her muscles working again.

Ori was the farthest from the group. The young scribe sat on a large rock and was barefooted, pulling the boots from his feet and dumping the water in them back into the river. Slowly he became aware of a shadow falling over him, and when he turned in apprehension, he saw a tall Man brandishing a bow and arrow, its point aimed right at him.

Dwalin jumped in front of Ori, brandishing a large stick like a staff, right as an arrow was placed in the log, centered between his hands. Kili grabbed a small rock, ready to throw it in defense of his friend, but it was shot right out of his hand by the human bowman. Bard already had another arrow notched and aimed at them. “Do it again, and you're dead.”

Balin, ever the diplomat, stepped forward to take charge of the situation. “Excuse me, but you're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn't be available for hire, by any chance?”

Bard started to load the barrels onto his barge as he talked guardedly Balin as the Company's representative. “What makes you think I would help you?”

The old Dwarf kept his voice friendly as he conversed with the Lakeman. “Those boots have seen better days, as have that coat. No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed.” The look that Bard gave the royal adviser told Balin that his guess was correct. “How many bairns?”

Bard's weathered features softened when his thoughts turned to his children. “A boy and two girls.” 

Balin smiled. “And your wife, I imagine she's a beauty?”

Bard face turned haunted and his voice sad. “Aye, she was.”

Balin's face fell. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – “

Dwalin, standing off to the side with his back to the Man, muttered to himself. “C'mon, c'mon, enough of the niceties.”

The Man heard it, however. “What's your hurry?”

“What's it to you?” Dwalin snapped back. The bald Dwarf's stance was battle-ready, his tree-trunk sized arms crossed across the chest.

Bard braced his hands on the top of one of the barrels, leaning forward with a grim and serious expression on his face. “I would like to know who you are, and what you are doing in these lands.”

Balin calmly stepped in, trying to control the narrative before Thorin or Dwalin could let it get out of hand.“We are simple merchants, from the Blue Mountains, journeying to visit our kin in the Iron Hills.”

“Simple merchants, you say?” Bard's tone clearly said that he wasn't buying it. “A group of Dwarves with a halfling and a human woman?” That was the first time Bard had acknowledged her presence. Moira wondered if Balin had really expected him to believe his story, or just that the Man would not question it in the interest of plausible deniability. Bard wasn't stupid, nor inexperienced. He would never fall for that. Still, she had to try, so she spoke up.

She left her spot standing next to Kili and Fili, and approached where Bard and Balin were talking. She caught her fellow human's eyes, but carefully kept her voice more demure than usual. “I cannot speak for the halfling, but I am traveling with them in the interests of safety, until I reach my home. They were most kind to allow me to join them and provide me with protection along the way. Surely you would not expect a lady to cross the wilds alone?”

The tall, dark-haired Man regarded her. His face was kind and his tone was polite, but his dark eyes told her that he didn't believe her. “And where is your home, my lady?” 

_Shit._ Moira wasn't aware of any human settlements near the Iron Hills. Thankfully, Thorin stepped forward then and deflected attention back to him. “We need food, supplies, weapons. Can you help us?”

Bard rubbed his fingers across one of the arrow marks marring the wood of the barrels, and then looked back at the raven-locked Dwarf pointedly. “I know where these barrels came from.”

“What of it?” growled Thorin.

“I don't know what business you had with the Elves, but I don't think it ended well. No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He would see you in irons rather than risk the wrath of King Thranduil.”

Balin would not be deterred. “I'd wager there are ways to enter that town unseen.”

Moira added her voice to Balin's. “And I bet you know all of them.”

Bard gazed into her eyes now, looking hard. A small smile was tugging at his lips. “And what makes you say that, my lady?”

She crossed her arms in front her and smirked. “Call it a hunch.”

“A hunch?”

“Or experience. I'm an excellent judge of character.”

Bard's smile widened, and his brown eyes seemed amused. “You would need a smuggler.”

“And are you?” Moira challenged him.

Before he could answer her question, Balin cut between them. “We would be willing to pay double.”

The Man considered for a moment, and then nodded his head slightly in consent.

Moira smiled, holding her hand out to the Man. “I'm Moira. This is Balin.” She nodded in the direction of the white-bearded Dwarf beside her. Instead of shaking her hand, Bard lifted her hand to his lips, a smile quirking his lips. “My name is Bard, my lady,” and he planted a gentle kiss to her knuckles. She flushed involuntarily. Moira could feel Fili's glare from behind her. She regretted making him jealous, but if this convinced Bard of their story, it was probably for the best. 

~000~

Moira sat in front of the fire in Bard's home in Laketown, a woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her teeth chattering. Bilbo sat besides her in a similar state, clutching a cup of hot broth. Fili, Kili, Thorin and Balin gathered in a tight circle a little ways away, talking in hushed tones. All the Dwarves and the lone Hobbit were dressed in worn, over-sized clothing meant for humans, but at least they were dry. The faded brown dress that Moira wore – an actual _dress_ – had been lent to her by Sigrid, Bard's eldest daughter. Although it fit her better than the clothing fit anyone else in the party, Sigrid was still a head taller than her and dress dragged on the floor and hung loosely off her body in other parts. She had to roll the too-long sleeves up several times for her hands to even appear out of the arms of the fabric prison. It made Moira feel lumpy and awkward, and worse, it made movement difficult. Not yet wanting to draw suspicions, she had accepted it instead of asking for trousers instead. Now she silently cursed that decision.

Sneaking into Laketown had been nerve-wrecking for everyone in the party, of course, but it could be argued that it was most frightening for Moira. Since Bombur's barrel had been shattered during their escape, Moira couldn't just climb back into her barrel and hide under the fish that hid Bilbo and the Dwarves. So she would have be on the barge with Bard, and they had to come up with a story to get her past the gate. Bard had originally planned to pass her off to the guardsmen as his betrothed, but she had suggested that it would be quite suspicious to the rest of the town when they left, making it look like his fiance had fled in the middle of the night. They had settled on saying she was a distant cousin instead, traveling in search of work, and she would be staying with him while she did so in Esgaroth. Bard had given her his coat to hide how soaked her clothing was, and a small bag on the barge with other supplies had contained a scarf which she tied around her hair. That managed to cover it's tangled mess, since it would have shown that her story was more complicated and more violent than Bard's friend Percy would want to know. The entire time, Moira worried that her presence would derail the entire quest, if the Company was caught or denied entry because of her. Luckily, that didn't happen. She found herself needing to resist the urge to punch Alfrid in his disgusting face when his lascivious eyes skimmed her body openly (and she could see the same reaction on Bard's face as well). But other than that, the entry into Laketown went just as it should.

Moira looked up when Fili came to sit next to her. Bilbo had gone to stand with Thorin by the window, and Fili took the Hobbit's vacated spot. She smiled warmly at the golden-haired Dwarf. “You've looked better, my Prince.” she whispered to him in a mocking tone. If the force of the rapids had down a number on her hair, it had been worse on him. His braids were completely undone, and the only beads he had left were the two in his mustache, while the braid on the left side of Moira's head stubbornly clung to life. Even with his hair a wet, unbraided mess falling in waves on either side of his noble face and strong jaw, he was still beautiful. Perhaps more so.

“And you as well.” He teased back. “Although, I've never seen you in a dress before. I think I want to see more of that.”

“In a tattered, ill-fitting peasant's dress, soaked to the bone?”

“I would see you in silk and jewels, if I could.”

Moira was taken aback by his response, so instead she asked a question that had been weighing on her. “Why is Bard still here? Isn't he going to go get the weapons?” Bard had left briefly but quickly returned. Now the bargeman was sitting at the table, his youngest daughter perched on his lap. He was whispering something to Tilda, but his eyes were watching Moira from across the room. It made her nervous. Perhaps he hadn't believed her little performance after all.

Fili followed her gaze and frowned when he saw where it landed. He had kept an eye on the Laketown bargeman since he had kissed Moira's hand in greeting, and he didn't like how the Man's gaze would continually be drawn back to her. He spoke then, drawing her eyes back to him, and answered her question. “When he left earlier, he spoke with a friend of his. He assures us that the weapons are being gathered as we speak.”

“Oh.” was all Moira could say, as she frowned in thought. _That went a lot quicker in the movie. Well, I suppose Peter Jackson didn't want us watching people sitting around waiting for too long. Not a very heroic addition to a movie._

Fili shrugged. “It's okay, I don't mind. Gives us some time together.” He gave her a soft smile that was, frankly, dazzling.

Moira couldn't help but giggle, which seemed to please Fili. “When we aren't running for our lives, imprisoned by Elves, or too exhausted to move, you mean?” 

“Precisely.” 

She smiled at him for a moment. Gods, she wanted to kiss him. But the little house was overly full of Dwarves, a Hobbit, and a little human family, and she didn't want to embarrass him. Well, maybe she could do the next best thing. “Fili, your hair is a mess. Would you like me to brush it for you? And your braids ... I don't know Dwarf techniques, but I could give you a Viking style … if you want.” 

Fili was surprised at her suggestion. She was chewing her bottom lip nervously now, waiting for his response as he considered. His uncle would probably not be happy about it. But when was Uncle Thorin ever happy? And something about Moira brushing and braiding his hair in front of Bard pleased him. He doubted either human understood what the gesture would mean in Dwarven culture, but he found himself wanting to do it anyway. Making his decision, he grinned at her. “I'd love that, lass. And afterwards I could fix your braids, as well.”

Fili's heart lurched in his chest when the large smile broke out on her face. Smiles like that were a rarity for her, and they seemed to be reserved only for him. He treasured every one like mithril. Turning to Sigrid, Moira requested the use of a brush and several long, thin, leather straps, if they had them. Fili assumed they were to bind his hair, in the absence of beads. When Bard's eldest returned with the requested supplies, as well as a small hand-mirror, Moira motioned for him to sit between her legs. He did so, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to her. He also threw both of his arms causally across her legs, which were on either side of his torso, his hands dangling over her knees as she began to gently brush his hair. Fili met Bard's eyes across the table, and the message that went between the Dwarf and the Man was wordless, but nonetheless, clear as crystal: _Mine_. When comprehension dawned on the bargeman's face, Bard nodded at him respectfully. The human then averted his eyes from the pair, going to talk to his children once more, and Fili was satisfied. 

When Moira set the brush down and slid her fingers into his hair to begin the work of braiding, Fili sighed in contentment at the sensation of her skilled fingers drifting across his scalp. He allowed his eyes to drift shut and he just reveled in the sensations. He could tell that whatever she was doing, the Viking style was going to be tighter than he was used to, but he didn't mind. He absentmindedly wondered if she realized the significance of what she was doing. Apparently, she did.

“I used to do this for my husband,” she whispered into his ear, quiet enough that no-one else could hear. Fili felt his breath catch at the implication. “I'm almost done. And if it's too tight or you don't like it, you can take it out.” 

Fili smiled at the worry in her voice. His eyes still closed, he reassured her. “I'm sure I'll love it, lass.” 

After a few moments, Moira stopped, and he felt her tie the last leather band around the single, thick braid that now hung behind his head. “Silver bands would offset the gold of your hair better, but leather will have to do,” she was muttering, almost to herself, and when she finished her work she admired it for a moment before handing him the little mirror so he could make his own evaluation. Fili looked into the mirror, turning his head from side to side to get a good look at every angle her work. He now had several small braids on either side of his head, which lead to the top and back of his skull, where the rest of his thick hair was gathered into a single, complicated plait, tied at even intervals with the leather bands. It was true, it was not a Dwarven style – Dwarves usually let their hair flow freely – but it was not unattractive, and the complicated pattern clearly showed that she had skill in this area. 

“It's interesting. And you did a beautiful job.” 

Not caring if Thorin saw anymore, Fili turned and planted a quick, chaste kiss on her lips, before he motioned for her to take the position on the floor so he could work on her hair. With his position now changed, he saw that Thorin was indeed watching them with a hard look, not quite a glare, in his blazing eyes. Fili thought about glaring back, but instead of issuing a challenge in such a way, he instead gave Thorin a soft smile, trying to communicate his happiness to his uncle. Fili saw Thorin's features soften just slightly at the smile from his sisterson. He knew that his overprotective uncle just wanted the best for him and his brother. He just wasn't always the best at communicating it. Additionally, Thorin didn't trust Manfolk. But from what little Moira had said, she didn't seem to have a great fondness for her own kind either. Fili frowned as he remembered Moira's words to Tauriel when they had been imprisoned in cells of the Woodland Realm. _At least your people aren't at war. Men get worse when they're at war._ Although she had told him that was just part of her plan to manipulate Tauriel into letting them go, Fili couldn't help but feel there was more to the heaviness of her words. He had a nagging feeling that something very, very bad had happened to her in the past. He pushed those thoughts away as he worked his thick fingers gently through the dark, straight strands of her hair. Whatever had happened to her before, she was his now, and he would protect her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about Dwarves and Vikings is starting to give me a hair fetish. LOL


	19. Preparing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everybody wants more information about Rahl and what's going to happen there, and let me assure you that I have a plan, but it's a very long arc and you're going to have to be patient.  
>  **Khuzdul Words**  
>  Nadad = brother  
> Nadadlith = little brother  
> Amrâlimê = my love  
> Kurdunuh = my heart

Telling Moira's story to Kili and Bilbo had been more difficult than Fili had thought it would be.He left out a lot of the worst details. He didn't see the point in troubling his brother and the gentle Hobbit overmuch. He didn't say that Moira had almost certainly been raped by this Lord Rahl. Although she hadn't told him so in so many words, Fili could read between the lines, and the shame on her face had spoken volumes. He didn't include the detail that Moira's lover Cara and her fellow Mord'Sith had been tortured as children to be made into what they were. Other than that, he didn't spare the sparse details she had shared about her ordeal in Rahl's dungeons, and he told them what Moira had said about some of the things she had done while under Rahl's control. Particularly about trying to kill her friends. It was important they understood what they were up against. _Do you?_ A small, sinister voice at the back of his mind taunted him. _Do you **really** understand what's coming for her? ___

When he had finished, there was nothing but stunned silence around the table. Bilbo's eyes were glistening with unshed tears on his friend's behalf. Kili was pale, all the blood drained from his face. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Yavanna have mercy,” Bilbo was the first to speak. Kili cleared his throat and looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't seem to get the words out.

“I know.” was all that Fili could offer. He stared hard at the plate of fresh-baked rolls that Bilbo had placed on the table between the three of them, as if it could offer up some secret from it's doughy, buttery depths. The magnitude of what was happening was just beginning to hit him, especially the part where she had said _'the consequences for Middle-Earth could be dire.'_ This had gone beyond just the two of them, now. Fili was struggling to comprehend it all. They would definitely need to get the Elves involved.

“I'm coming with you.” Bilbo spoke up now. He jutted his chin out defiantly and there was that surprising steel in his eyes. The quest for Erebor had indeed changed him. “To Rivendell. She's my friend, too. She means a great deal to me. I'd go so far as to call her family. I won't let her face this danger alone.” After a short pause, he added. “Nor the two of you.”

 _The courage of Hobbits, indeed_ , Fili marveled. Gandalf had chosen their burglar well, it seemed. 

“Very well, it's decided then.”

“She won't be happy about you making that decision without her.” Kili offered now.

“She'll have to get used to it.” Fili worked to project a bravado he didn't feel. Under the table, his fists were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, hard enough that he could've sworn he would draw blood. He was responsible for her, and his brother and the Hobbit, too. He had to be strong for them. He would get them to Rivendell. After that … _No, don't think about it, he told himself. You'll going to do this. You'll going to keep them all safe._ He prayed to Mahal he could keep his promise to himself.

“I think we should get some sleep.” Fili stated. “It's already late.”

Bilbo nodded, snatching a couple of the buttery rolls from the dwindling pile in front of him and munching on one as he headed to the master bedroom. Kili lingered. _No, not now_ , Fili thought desperately.

“Are you alright, nadad?” Kili asked, concern lacing his normally jovial voice.

“I just found out that my One has been tortured and is still being hunted by a mad sorcerer from another world, who may now be intent on conquering Middle-Earth, and almost certainly on torturing and killing me, at the very least. Do you think I'm alright?” Fili snapped.

Kili looked shocked at his elder brother's outburst, and Fili felt instant guilt. _A feeling I'm becoming all too familiar with, it seems_. Fili sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

“I'm sorry, nadadlith, I'm sorry. I just … I haven't processed it yet.”

Kili nodded. “It's okay Fee.”

“I'm trying to stay strong for her. She's already been through so much. I just … brother, I don't know what to do.”

The younger prince slipped around the table, coming to sit beside his brother on the wooden bench. “Gandalf will. Going to Rivendell is the right call.” Kili patted his brother's arm comfortingly. “In the meantime, she needs you, even if she's too scared to admit it.”

Fili nodded, feeling somewhat comforted, even though he knew that his brother's brash bravado and determination wouldn't stand a chance against Rahl if he managed to get to Moira before they found Gandalf or made it to Rivendell.

“We should still sleep.”

The darker-haired brother nodded. “Of course. Are you going to eat anymore of the rolls?”

Despite the seriousness of their situation, Fili laughed, long and loud. His brother, apparently, didn't let anything bother him, as far as his appetite went anyway. “Help yourself. I'm not hungry.”

“Good.” Kili flashed his brother his signature cheeky grin, before picking up the entire plate and carrying it back with him to his room. Fili shook his head, chuckling, and drained the tankard of ale in front of him – having to relay Moira's story himself had made him understand her need for the tongue-loosening beverage – and got up to do the same.

He wasn't entirely sure which room he should retire to. There were two more guest rooms in Bag End, so that was an option. Moira had told him she loved him, had said she was his, had even asked him to lay beside her until she fell asleep, but that didn't mean that there weren't a lot of issues to work out in their relationship. He had to get to know her again, and Fili suddenly realized that he wasn't sure if he was ready to share a room with her yet, particularly in light of some of the night's revelations. As he walked down the hall, he opened the the door to Moira's room quietly, intending just to check on her. What he saw had him at her side in an heartbeat.

Moira was tossing and turning in the bed, her features twisted in an expression of pure fear. The blankets had been kicked clean off the bed, the sheets were twisted around her body, which was covered in sweat, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, and her long hair was spread around her like a dark halo. “Please, no … please stop...” she begged her invisible tormentor. 

Fili's heart constricted. Telling him her story had made her relive her ordeal in Rahl's dungeons, and doubtless that's what she now dreamt of. He knew better than to touch her when she was in the grips of such a dream, but sometimes the sound of his voice had calmed her. He eased himself onto the bed next to her, but made sure to keep a safe distance. 

“Shhh, lass. Moira, love, it's okay, you're safe.”

The distress on Moira's face and in her voice was breaking Fili's heart. “Cara, Cara, run! Don't challenge him ...” 

Fili frowned briefly, but continued. “Kurdunuh, shh, amrâlimê, it's alright …” 

He murmured to her in both Westron and Khuzdul. Although he knew she didn't understand most of the words, she had always seemed to find his native tongue soothing. Slowly, her fitful movements stilled and she ceased to cry out. But the expression painted across her sleeping face was still troubled. Cautiously, Fili reached a hand out and gently glided a finger down her cheek, to gauge her reaction. She shifted, moving into his touch, a sob ripping from her throat. Fili finally enveloped her in his strong arms. He had hoped to calm her dreams without waking her, as he had sometimes managed to do in the past. This was not one of those times. Awake now, she cried into his chest, as she had many times before. But this time Fili had no need to wonder at the reason for her tears. This time he knew. And to his eternal shame, a part of him wished that he didn't.

~000~

Fili awoke slowly, and not without protest. The dawn's earliest light was beginning to stream through the open window. He turned over with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut against it. He didn't want to wake yet. He reached out for Moira's sleeping form to pull her closer to him, but when he found nothing he was instantly awake, as if he had been suddenly doused in icy water. _Oh, Mahal, not again!_ Had she run away in the middle of the night, determined to keep her friends from further danger? Had she gone to face Rahl alone?

Panic rose in Fili as he bolted upright in the bed. He looked around the room frantically, searching for any sign of her. His fears were not allayed when he saw that her pack was missing from it's normal spot and that the wardrobe in the corner had been left open, the clothes inside having been ransacked. Fili leapt to his feet, practically flying out of the hobbit-sized bed, and raced to the bedroom door. He wretched it open violently, and almost instantly he stopped in his tracks. The smell of pork sausages cooking hit him at the same moment that her voice, softly singing, reached his ears.

_“Fall on my knees, fall on my pride, I'm tripping over how many times I've lied....”_

Relief flooding through him, Fili attempted to will the frantic beating of his heart to slow, but instead found himself following the sound of her voice and the delicious smell to the little kitchen of the hobbit-hole. Her back was to him, and for a moment, Fili just watched her and listened to the words she sang.

_“Come undone, surrender is stronger. I don't need to be the hero tonight. We all want love, we all want honor, Nobody wants to pay the asking price ….”_

Although the words of the song were foreboding, she didn't sound sad, at least not nearly as gloomy as she had the time he had stumbled upon her singing in Rivendell. She didn't sound exactly happy, either. If anything, Fili would say she sounded … tired. Resigned. 

This morning her long dark hair was bound into a single, simple braid that hung down her back. She was dressed in traveling clothes, a pair of dark green trousers covered in pockets and her tight-fitting bodice. The bandage on her right forearm looked fresh, indicating she had changed it herself. Fili thought he saw the hilt of a dagger sticking up from the top of one of her leather boots. Beside the doorway leading to the kitchen sat her pack, her bedroll hanging beneath it by straps, and laid across it was her familiar, simple gray tunic (sporting a few extra patches, he noticed), as well as a weather-stained leather jerkin Fili had never seen before. Beside her pack sat her cloak, neatly folded, a tall walking stick, and her sword belt. She was ready to move before anyone else in Bag End had even stirred. 

She turned now, clutching the handle of the cast iron skillet laden with fat, juicy sausages, about to ladle them onto the waiting plate sitting in the center of the table that was already half-filled with crispy bacon. Fili noticed that the Mjolnir he had forged for her was hanging around her neck, and as had been reported to him, his courtship beads flanked the religious pendant on either side of the leather cord. Moira paused when she caught sight of him, her mouth hanging slightly open, although Fili couldn't see why she'd have that expression.

“Good morning,” Fili addressed her, a little uncertainly. “Good morning,” she echoed his greeting. There was a hint of amusement in her tone, the reason for which became painfully clear with her next sentence. “You're not wearing any pants.”

Fili looked down at himself and flushed slightly when he realized that it was true. He was clad only in his thin linen undershirt and smallclothes. When she had finally fallen asleep for the second (or was it third?) time last night, he had made himself comfortable, since his presence seemed to be keeping her from having nightmares, for the moment. In his haste to find her when he had awoken, he had completely forgotten. 

“Oh.” was all he could say. Shaking slightly with the effort of holding in her laughter, Moira scrapped the sausages onto the waiting plate, trying vainly to hide her smirk.

“I thought you had run off again.” Fili managed by way of explanation. That stopped her barely-contained laughter in its tracks. She looked back to him, her dark eyes full of guilt. “I'm sorry about that. I really am.” They looked at each other silently for a few heartbeats, before she added, “You'd better get dressed before Bilbo or your brother wake up.”

Fili knew she was right, but he was reluctant to leave her unattended. “I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere.” She looked unhappy at his comment, but nodded wordlessly. Fili raced back to the bedroom and dressed quickly, maybe quicker than he ever had. When he reentered the hall, she was singing again, but her voice sounded lighter than before. At least his panic-induced mishap had done some good, he mused as he followed the sound of her voice to the kitchen once more. At Fili sat down at the table, he realized the song had changed. It was obviously a Viking battle song.

_“We were kings of the sea, Gods of savagery. Listen to the steel sing about great victory. A power that is built on blood, we spill blood with Ragnar Lothbrok. Oh Odin, O-din, tonight we drink with you in Valhalla, Val-halla, Val-halla ….”_

Moira smiled softly at him, but continued to work on breakfast, still singing as she placed an empty plate in front of him. She continued to sing as she bustled about the kitchen, getting rolls, butter, honey, a bowlful of dried berries, jars of raspberry and blueberry perseveres, wedges of sharp cheddar cheese. Fili started to pile sausages and bacon onto his plate, making sure to leave half for her, even as she put more into the skillet for Kili and Bilbo. The song came to an end as she filled two bowls with the oatmeal that was bubbling over the hearth fire. After placing the bowls onto the table, she disappeared down the hall. She soon came back carrying two glass liter-sized bottles of fresh milk. She handed him one. Fili was surprised to find is was cold to the touch, indicating that Bilbo had an ice-room that had not been discovered and ransacked by his fellow Dwarves on the night of the unexpected party so long ago.

“Coffee's still brewing.” she said as she sat across from him, taking a sip of her milk before she poured some into her bowl of oatmeal. “You have no idea how happy I was to discover that Middle-Earth has coffee. It didn't exist in several of the worlds I've been in. The last one had something similar, but it just wasn't the same.”

There it was. The reminder that she wasn't like him. Fili tried to sound causal as he asked, “So, there's coffee in your world? The one you're originally from?”

She nodded, stirring jam, butter, and honey into her oatmeal as she spoke. “Yup, and I was quite the coffee addict back in the day.” She looked nostalgic all of a sudden. “Gods, I miss Starbucks. Starbucks could make all my problems go away, at least for a little while. Of course, I had much simpler problems back then. Although I would never have believed you if you told me so.”

“I suppose not.” Suddenly Fili's mouth was dry and he didn't think he could eat any more of the sausages, hungry as he was. Moira noticed.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Should I have not said anything about … ?” her voice sounded small. She didn't need to finish the question.

"No, I want to hear it.” Fili raised his eyes from the plate of food to meet her concerned gaze. “I want to know you. All of you. But it's just ...” his voice died then.

“A lot.” She finished the thought for him. “I'm sorry. I just … I'm glad I don't have to lie to you anymore.” She looked down at her food, and a thought suddenly occurred to Fili.

“Your husband didn't leave you. After your son died.” It was a statement. Not a question.

“No.” she looked miserable. “We went on to have two more children, Thora and Eirik, before he eventually fell in battle, like any good Viking.” She took a few bites of her sausages before continuing.

“I never should have told you about my son to begin with. After I did, I had to come up with something, to make it make sense. I was supposed to be only 29 years old, after all. What was I supposed to say? But I always did tell you too much. I haven't made that mistake in a long, long time.”

Fili felt a strange and unexpected surge of happiness then, and he realized that he had been worried that he was only one in a long line of lovers, of … distractions from her miserable life. But if what she said was true, then maybe he did mean more to her. Still, there was so much he didn't know about her. The song she had just been singing gave him a place to start.

“Who's Ragnar Lothbrok?” 

At just that moment, Kili stumbled in, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, obviously summoned by the smell of cooking sausages and bacon. Moira looked grateful for the distraction, because she was instantly on her feet again and getting him a plate and a drink as she had Fili. Since the coffee had finished brewing by now, she also got a cup for each of them. Kili mumbled his thanks before digging in, obviously not ready for conversation yet.

“Ragnar was my King, when I was Viking.” Moira addressed Fili, between large gulps of the bitter, black brew. She paused, biting her lip, and then continued. “And, after Aslaug officially adopted me, he was my father by law, although I was never as close with him as I was with his wife or his sons.”

Kili paused his chewing, staring at her in shock, his mouth open.

“Close your mouth, Kili.” Moira admonished him, sounding for all the world like their mother.

Fili understood how he felt. He was a little flabbergasted, himself. After all of talk of being low-born, being unworthy, intimidated by his status as a prince …. this was not what he expected. “That makes you ...”

“A princess!” his brother finished, swallowing the food still in his mouth.

Moira, for some reason, winced. “Technically. I guess. But I died there, remember? Whatever I was there, I'm not anymore.”

"And yet, you still wear the Mjolnir, swear by Odin, and cast the runes.” Fili pointed out. He was starting to feel hopeful that maybe, after this Rahl business was taken care of, Thorin would not only tolerate but _approve_ of a match with her. “You said yourself you think of yourself as Viking more than anything else. You still call yourself a shieldmaiden, at times. You're a Viking princess.”

“Maybe.” She looked doubtful. Before he could say more, she changed the subject. “It's your turn, now. How did you find me? I'm assuming it was the Darrowdams in Bree. Or was it Faron?”

“I don't know who Faron is.”

“The dams then.” Fili nodded. It was his turn to feel uncomfortable.

“Why were five dams traveling alone?” Moira asked.

“They weren't.”

“I was there. They were alone.”

Fili was quiet. “They didn't start out alone.”

“Oh.” There was sympathy in Moira's voice now. “Orcs?”

Fili nodded mutely.

“Did you … know them?”

“No. Not personally.” 

Just then, Bilbo wandered in, the last of their little party, not counting the Elf waiting a few day's journey away. Their host was more awake than Kili had been, but still yawning with sleep in his eyes. “Morning, sunshine!” Moira greeted him in a mocking tone. The curly-haired Hobbit scowled in response. “You're the last to wake up. I was hoping I wouldn't have to leave without saying goodbye.”

The Hobbit stopped in his tracks. “Don't be ridiculous. I'm going with you.”

Moira scowled back at him. “No, you're not.”

“Yes, I am!” Bilbo planted his little fists on his hips stubbornly. “Don't argue with me, Miss Ranger, I'm your friend. You have people who care about you. You're not alone in this.” Moira opened her mouth to protest, but Bilbo cut her off. “And don't say that I'm not prepared for this. Do you think I was really prepared for the last quest? Let me tell you, I was _not_. But I've made up my mind, and I'm coming along whether you like it or not!” The fair-haired Hobbit's face was set in an expression of grim determination, and both Dwarven princes struggled to hide their grins as Moira noticeably balked. 

“Fine.” Moira made an exaggerated sigh. “But I don't want you slowing us down. We have a long way to go today. There's fresh coffee brewed.”

At her last comment, the little Hobbit noticeably perked up, hurrying to the pot for a mug. Moira turned back to the princes. “My horse is boarded with a Hobbit family near the border of the Shire, the Maggots. We'll have to stop there on the way.”

“Tauriel will meet us outside of the Shire,” Kili piped up, his mouth full of food as he spoke again. “She has our ponies.”

“Tauriel's here?” Moira asked in surprise.

“Fili thought you might get overwhelmed.” Kili explained between shovelfuls of oatmeal and sausage. “You know, too many people.”

“Hmm.” She looked at him now, and there was a slight quirk of a smile on her lips. He thought he saw gratitude in her brown eyes. “He knows me well.”

Bilbo sat beside Moira. “Do you have a plan to keep your house from being ransacked this time?” she asked her friend.

He looked surprised. “Uh, I hadn't thought of that.” he replied, dumping copious amounts of sugar and cream into his coffee.

“I thought not. How about asking one of your Took or Brandybuck cousins to look after it for you? They'll be less likely to give you up for dead after a month or two then other Hobbits, being the more adventurous sort.”

Bilbo nodded. “Sounds good. But who?”

Moira considered for a moment. “How about Rory Brandybuck?”

“He's barely out of his tweens!” Bilbo protested. 

The Ranger shrugged. “He seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, when I did guard duty on those trading trips into Bree. And we'll have to pass by Brandy Hall.”

Bilbo sighed. “I suppose that's better than leaving Bag End to the tender mercies of the Sackville-Bagginses.” 

“There ya go.” Moira patted her friend's shoulders in reassurance. 

A heavy silence settled on little group of four, as each of them ate as much as they could. It might be a while before they would all enjoy such a good, hot breakfast in the comforts of home again. And they all knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Fili is trying so hard to stay strong! But it IS a lot to deal with.  
> The second song Moira sings is actually a Vikings fan song written and performed by Karliene, which you can listen to here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjBAyU_2AOQ


	20. Wizard's Second Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our party meets up with Tauriel and Moira attempts to break the magical bond ... to unexpected results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20 was supposed to be a flashback to the quest chapter, but the Muses, they do what they like. This chapter is now the longest I've written, at 7,868 words, not counting the author's notes of course.  
> Btw, I just found out that Dean O'Gorman, who plays Fili, also played the mortal incarnation of the Viking God of poetry, Bragi, on a TV show called The Almighty Johnsons. I did NOT know that when I started writing this story and I'm a little freaked out by it to be honest! Also, he was apparently young Iolaus on Young Hercules, and I was a big fan of Xena: Warrior Princess and Hercules the Legendary Journeys! Weird. I'm gonna have to add those to the list of things I need to watch now.  
> Anyway, enjoy the update!
> 
>  **Khuzdul Words:**  
>  Amrâlimê = my love  
> Givâshelûh = my treasure of (all) treasures  
>  **Sindarian Words:**  
>  Melethron = lover (masculine – the feminine is melethril)  
> Fëa = soul, or spirit, roughly

The walk out of the Shire was frustrating and slightly awkward for Moira, but mostly uneventful. More Hobbit eyes than usual watched as they walked along the road. Moira didn't know if it was because of the presence of the two Dwarves, or if word of her display the day before had already spread through Hobbiton and parts beyond. Hobbits could be disturbingly good at distributing information, when they wanted to be. The extra scrutiny had made her withdraw into herself, and Fili had hovered closer protectively. They made camp and slept in little forests for two more nights before they came at last near the borders of the Shire, crossing the Brandywine River into Buckland.

Hazel Maggot had noticed immediately the way that the golden-haired Dwarf stayed by Moira's side constantly, his watchful blue gaze alert for the barest hint of a threat to her. She had also noticed the bandage on Moira's arm and the haunted look in her eyes, although she didn't ask about that. Instead, the lady of the Maggot farmstead had offered to pack provisions for their journey, which they had gratefully accepted. With only one horse among them (at least until they met up with Tauriel), they continued to walk. Moira led Nicki by a rope tied to her bridle, the brown mare weighed down by several saddlebags full of extra food they had not expected to receive.

The stop at Brandy Hall had been even more uncomfortable, since at any time there could be between 50 and 100 relatives of the reigning Brandybuck patriarch staying there. But it had to be done. One delightful side-effect of stopping there was that the travelers were immediately offered a hot bath to wash the dust of the road off. Once they found Rory, he had accepted the job as caretaker of Bag End, but not without asking a lot of questions that no-one in the little party wanted to answer. The gossip would be sure to be swirling at an extra-frenetic pace in the Shire for a long time. Maybe years. Moira wondered what stories the Hobbits would invent to explain what little facts they knew.

A contract was drawn up, a legal precaution against the Sackville-Bagginses trying to claim that Rory was staying at Bag End without an invitation or permission. And that was _quite_ annoying, since Hobbit law required no less than _**seven**_ witness signatures, signed in red ink, but with the Sackville-Bagginses involved it was important that they dot the Is and cross the Ts. Afterwards they had been hosted for the night by the Brandybucks. While Moira usually found the joy and enthusiasm of hobbit-parties endearing and a little infectious, this time it was just tiring. She retired from the merry-making early, but she avoided falling asleep until Fili returned. In his arms, the dreams were less likely to return, although it wasn't foolproof.

That night in Brandy Hall had been the first time in three days that Fili had let her out of his sight for longer than it took for her to relieve herself. When he stumbled into their room he was truly drunk, reeking of ale, clothes slightly disheveled, swaying with the effort it took to not fall onto his face. Doubtless Fili thought he was doing a good job hiding how scared he was from Moira. But even before he stumbled into their room in his inebriated state, she knew better. She was twice his age, after all, and she knew how to read people. It had been a necessary skill many times. Just because she didn't like people didn't mean she didn't understand them. In fact she probably disliked people in general because she understood them _too_ well. She ended up not sleeping at all that night, staying awake sitting up in the bed beside Fili's comatose form, stroking his golden hair softly and staring into the dark as he snored. Sometimes she forgot that 85 was such a young age for a Dwarf. She had placed a heavy burden on his shoulders, one that even an older and wiser Dwarf would balk at. But Fili was so young. The quest for Erebor had been the first time he had left the lands surrounding Ered Luin. He had so much less experience than he pretended he did. And now he had promised to protect her, but he had no earthly idea what he would be facing, not really. Moira knew that it would be her responsibility to protect Fili, just as much he felt it was his to protect her. She just wished she didn't feel so uncharacteristically weak and helpless.

In the morning Fili had been apologetic, but she had forced a laugh and said she understood what Dwarves were like and that she was sure that his brother had been just as drunk (which in truth she doubted, but if living at court in King's Landing had taught her anything it was how to lie well enough to convince most people). She also told him that she had managed to sleep a few hours (another lie). Thankfully the Brandybucks were generous with their coffee. Moira once again silently thanked Odin, or Eru, or Whoever that the glorious little black bean grew in Middle-Earth, and that the inhabitants here had figured out how to make the wondrous drink from it. She was certain she'd be in far worse shape without it. Her enthusiasm for the Brandybuck brew was such that the patriarch personally gifted her with three bags of the Shire's best dark-brew beans.

So now here they were, four days into their journey, and as it was nearing sunset they had just crossed the border of the Shire, officially leaving the peace and safety of the land of the Hobbits. Moira was relieved and regretful at the same time. The Shire would never be the same for her now, after the Hobbits had seen her in the road outside Bag End, screaming at nothing while Fili held her. They would likely think her mad, and were now shaking their heads at Bilbo's foolishness for going and getting involved with the Big Folk as the story spread. Her sanctuary was ruined. _Just one more thing that Rahl's taken from me_ , she thought bitterly.

They still had a few days' journey before they would enter Bree-land. For now, they were in the wilds of Eriador that lay between the Shire and Bree along the East-West Road. Moira was much more comfortable here. There were no expectations on her in the wild. Well, there were, now that she was traveling with the little party of Fili, Kili, and Bilbo. But now that they knew her story and there was no more reason to lie and constantly cover her tracks, interaction was much easier, although still sometimes awkward.

Kili was chomping at the bit, of course, eager to see his Elven lover, who was somewhere out here, waiting for them. Kili was leading the group now, half-running, the bounce in his step obvious as they drew nearer to where he had parted ways with his exiled Elf-maid. Bilbo followed behind him, a little slower but still maintaining a steady clip. The Hobbit carried a smaller version of Moira's walking stick, and he was shaking his head at Kili's antics. Fili and Moira bought up the rear, walking side by side. Fili had taken Nicki's rope from her a few hours ago, leading the horse for her to give her a bit of a break, and Moira had let him. The brown mare had taken a shine to the elder prince almost instantly, and Moira took that as a good sign.

Suddenly, a blur of green and red burst down from the tree branches ahead of them, knocking Kili off his feet. Bilbo squeaked in surprise as both Moira and Fili reached for their weapons, before relaxing upon realizing that the blur was Tauriel. The wood Elf had launched a sneak attack on her lover from above, and now, ignoring the other three for the moment, was straddling him in the middle of the road, smiling down at him mischievously. She had both his arms pinned above his head.

“You took too long, melethron.” the red-head addressed the embarrassed young Dwarf beneath her.  
“Givâshelûh, my love, not in front of the others,” Kili whined, trying to sweet-talk his way out of her hold. The Elf's mischievous grin widened, and the look of terror on Kili's face made Moira laugh out loud. Apparently Kili's penchant for mischief and pranks had rubbed off on the Elf. Her laugh caught Tauriel's attention, and she looked their way. She addressed Moira now, still holding Kili's wrists tightly.

“I am pleased to see Fili found you, Moira. And even more pleased to see you together.”

Bilbo was coughing awkwardly. Fili was grinning ear-to-ear, his sapphire eyes sparkling with that mirth Moira loved so much. The elder prince was clearly delighted at his brother's embarrassment, and made no move to rescue him from the Elf-maiden's hold. That left it up to Moira.

“Good to see you too, Tauriel.” Moira smiled at the former Captain of Mirkwood's Border Guard. “I think you can let Kili go now. We're a little exposed out here on the road. Torment him in the forest, if you must, when we're back at the safety of camp.”

“Listen to her, amrâlimê,” Kili begged. “She's a Ranger, she knows these parts.”

“Hmmm.” The Elf cocked her head to the side, her red hair spilling over her slim shoulders, and Moira noticed then the thick dwarven courtship braids framing Tauriel's face. _Are they official now?_ She thought in wonder. _Did Thorin really give his blessing?_ The wood-Elf made a great show of thinking Kili's plea over. “I suppose that would be wise.” She finally decided, but addressed the dark-haired Dwarf. “But you'll have to make it up to me.” Bilbo coughed louder. Everyone ignored him.

“Gladly.” Kili promised eagerly as Tauriel released her hold on him and stood, offering her hand to help him up. She hauled him to his feet, and suddenly Kili's face became serious, an expression that didn't suit him. “But first, we have much to discuss.” _Boom_. Moira sighed, and Kili glanced her way. Looking out of the corner of her eye, Moira was not surprised to see the same serious expression on Fili's face. Tauriel caught the exchange and sobered instantly. “Of course. This way.” She turned and led the party of four into the forest.

~000~

Tauriel and Kili had been absent from the camp for quite a while. Moira wondered if he was telling the Elf the truth about her, or if they were ….. doing something else. She dreaded telling Tauriel herself, and was hoping that Kili would take that task off of her hands. Of course, since parts of her story had been reported to him by Fili, Tauriel could end up with a slightly mangled version as she was getting parts of it third-hand. But Moira didn't care. It was better than relaying the story in its entirety herself, and if details came up that needed to be corrected, she would do so. No big deal.

Now that they had joined the Elf, Moira wanted to try to break the connection that bound her to Rahl. Her control over magic had never been strong, and now she was decades out of practice. Having Tauriel there to lend her spiritual strength to the task might give it a chance of success, but could also prove dangerous to her own health. Of course, Moira was only guessing. She was mixing magics from different worlds, after all, and there was truly no way to predict what the result would be. But she would not be attempting it tonight. She was fighting exhaustion from her sleepless night at Brandy Hall, and she would need to be well rested and sharp for it.

Bilbo was kneeling by the fire, stirring whatever he was making in the pot hanging above it by a tripod. Fili was sitting close by, sharpening his blades, but his eyes were often cast back towards Moira, as if he was worried that she would disappear in a puff of smoke in right in front of him. He had even insisted on accompanying her while she set her snares in the brush around camp – as if she'd run away on foot, leaving her horse and her pack! His constant hovering was starting to feel suffocating, but Moira knew it was her own fault. She didn't blame him. So for Fili's sake she pushed her feelings of annoyance down into the deep, dark hole in her psyche where much of her trauma was buried. She would tolerate it, if it made him feel better. For now. She sat on the ground cross-legged, her runes cast on the ground before her, but she wasn't really studying them. Her eyes were unfocused and she couldn't concentrate.

Moira perked up as she detected a rustling sound coming from her left. Finally. Kili emerged first, followed closely by Tauriel, who looked a little shell-shocked. He had told her, then. Suddenly Moira wished she had something to do with her hands, and she considered pulling her dagger from her boot and sharpening it, like Fili was currently doing with one of his swords. But it would be too obvious now, and only make things more awkward, she was sure. So instead she gathered up the wooden discs of the runes in front of her and started to scoop them back into their bag, her future going unread for now.

A pair of finely-crafted Elven boots appeared in front of her, the footfalls soft as a spring rain. Moira craned her neck upwards to see Tauriel peering down at her, her eyes bright. “May we speak?”

“What do you want to know?”

Tauriel looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Kili told you, right? So what's your question? About me, the worlds I've been to, the curse, Rahl. What do want to know?”

“You misunderstand me.” Tauriel sat on the grass then, cross-legged, hands on her knees, mirroring Moira's posture. “I wish to apologize.”

Now Moira was confused. “For what? You've done nothing. I'm the one who's dragged you all into danger.”

“For the way Thranduil behaved towards you.” Tauriel no longer referred to the Elvenking with honorifics.

“Ummmm.... you've already done that. A lot.”

“I know.” Tauriel's lyrical voice was soft, but her hazel eyes were bright. And filled to the brim with guilt. “But now, knowing what's happened to you …. It must have bought up many … unpleasant memories. So I must apologize for my part in that, once again.”

Moira was surprised, but somehow kept her composure. Tauriel's first thought was for Moira's feelings? Not the implications of what was happening, not the risk to Middle-Earth, but _her feelings?_ She barely knew the Elf, it had been a minor incident, more than three years ago, and yet Tauriel still felt guilty. For something she couldn't have possibly controlled. Moira was astounded by the kindness and purity of the Elf's soul. _No wonder Kili loves her_.

“You were just doing your job, protecting your land. You couldn't have known. Besides, on the long list of bad things that have happened to me, a forced kiss is nothing, trust me.”  
Moira wanted to be reassuring, but the shock on Tauriel's face told her that had been the wrong thing to say. And out of the corner of her eye she could see the deep frown on Fili's face, indicating he was listening as he continued to sharpen his sword.

“Still. I knew that Thranduil was … unwell. He had been getting harsher in his punishments, crueler, even to his own people, for some time. When your Company escaped, I was, in truth, relieved beyond words.”

That information was new to Moira. She was starting to get uncomfortable with the emotional rapport that the She-Elf seemed to want to build with her, especially considering of how Moira had blatantly manipulated her while still imprisoned. For all she knew, Tauriel's guilty conscience was entirely her fault, for playing up how bad the incident had been. _Oh well. Too late now_. Moira took control of the discussion and directed it away from the iffy and subjective subject of emotions and towards the more concrete one of action.

“I have something I want to do, to try to break the connection to Rahl.” Fili's hands, which had continued moving the whetstone along his blade thus far during the exchange, suddenly paused, and he looked up, blue eyes focusing intently on Moira. “I can't do it tonight, because I'm far too tired and I'll need to be fully charged, if you know what I mean. But I'll need your help.”

“Anything.” Tauriel responded instantly, with zero hesitation.

“Don't say yes yet, Tauriel. If it doesn't work, it could be dangerous for you.”

“How so?” Kili appeared out of nowhere, two bowls of soup in his hands, and flopped on the ground next to her.

“Hush, Kili.” Tauriel gently quieted her suddenly worried lover, before turning to Moira once more. “You are Fili's beloved. That makes you my sister. I will do whatever it is you require of me.”

Moira had to admit she was shocked by the Elf's loyalty and the admission that she felt kinship with her. _Oh Gods, I'm already building a family here_ , Moira realized. _Please, please don't let them be torn apart because of me_.

Kili cleared his throat. “I'd still like to know what this idea of yours involves.”

“As would I.” Fili had placed his sword to the side, now abandoning any pretense of not being a part of the discussion. Bilbo left the pot of soup boiling over the fire and came to sit between Fili and Kili. All four of them were arranged in an half-circle, and looking at her expectantly. The pressure was on now.

“The connection is weak right now, but it'll get stronger with time. That's why I thought I should try to break it before we get to Rivendell, at least once.” There were several understanding nods, so she continued.

“There's a … kind of psychic connection, a mental cord, tying us together. The presiding Lord Rahl has a magical bond of fealty with all D'Harans, but the one he used on me is ….” her lips twitched as she searched for the right word to describe it “Different. Stronger.” She didn't want to tell them why. “It'll be harder to break. Zedd taught me to build up my mental shields, among other things, but I haven't used magic in a long time – ”

“You have magic?” Bilbo couldn't help interrupting, then blushed at his rudeness.

“Well, no. Not here anyway.” At the confused looks on all their faces, she sighed. “Magic isn't the same in every universe. Here, it's very, very rare, and the province of only a few. In Rahl's world, almost everyone is born with at least a spark of magic inside them, it's just a matter of whether you have enough, or the right kind, to do anything with it. Only the Pristinely Ungifted are born with absolutely no magic whatsoever – and most magic doesn't affect them, either – but they are almost completely extinct. They have been hunted down and killed by the Rahls for generations.”

“Why?” Bilbo gasped.

“Think about it.”

“Because the greatest threat to a sorcerer-king isn't another sorcerer; it's someone who is completely unaffected by magic.” Fili answered for her. “Especially in a world that is dominated by magic, instead of the sword.” He looked to her for confirmation that he was correct, but he needn't have done so. He was good. She nodded, giving him a sad smile as she did so.

“Yes. And the Rahls have always been extremely powerful sorcerers. Their magic is in their blood, literally, not just in their bloodline. But anyway, that's not important right now. Point is, everyone there has some magic, it's just a matter of whether they are capable of using it or not.”

“But you weren't born there.” Fili said.

Moira sighed. “I know. I can't explain it, either. I shouldn't have the spark, but I do. ”

“Is it enough so that you can use it?” Kili asked.

“A little. I'm barely a hedge witch. Mostly it helps me when I am casting the runes. And sometimes during a fight, I can sense what my enemy's movements will be a split second before he even decides to make it. That's about all, nothing spectacular like shooting wizard's fire out of my hands like Zedd could do. But he did teach me a few things, mostly about building up my mental shields, becoming more aware of my surroundings, resisting certain forms of mind control, that kind of thing. I can't actually affect the world around me with my magic, mine's mostly perception-based. Anyway, I want to use one of his methods to try to break the cord between myself and Rahl.”

“How can I be of assistance?” Tauriel had not asked a single question up until now, but had just been watching and listening intently.

“I'm out of practice. I may need to borrow some of your strength, your magical essence. Your … spirit, if you will.”

Fili and Bilbo looked confused, but Tauriel nodded sagely, as if she understood perfectly. The expression on Kili's face, however, clearly showed that he wasn't happy about the proposal (Moira couldn't blame him in the least), but he didn't protest when Tauriel agreed. “I will endeavor to help in any way I can.”

“Thank you.” Moira was sincere in her gratitude. “Then I'm going to sleep. I need rest. In the morning, I'd like to try before we set out. I think it'll be better to do it in the morning than the evening, even if there is a risk that I'll pass out again and we'll have to stay here for another day. Which there is. Is everyone okay with that?”

There was a chorus of agreements, and Moira nodded. “Okay. In the morning then. I'll need to meditate for a while first, at least half an hour. I'm going to try to meditate before sleep right now too, but I'm so tired I doubt it'll do much.” Fili gave her a sharp look, as if he had just realized that she had lied about sleeping while staying at Brandy Hall, but he didn't say anything to her about it. _He probably doesn't want to scold me in front of the others_ , she thought to herself as she got up to look for a secluded spot to meditate. _He'll make me feel bad about that later_. Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't fair. He was just worried about her.

Moira took a spot closer to the woods, sitting with her back against a tree for support. She could faintly feel the energy of life pulsating inside the tree, a sure sign that Rahl had weakened the walls between realities somehow. She shouldn't have any powers here in Middle-Earth. If she did, then they had been dormant for 5 years, and there was no logic to that. No, Moira was certain that the sudden return of her Sense was a residual effect of the bond to Rahl. _NOT a good thing._

Moira closed her eyes and leaned back. The thin cord that connected them damn near glowed in the cloudiness of her mind, but she avoided it. All she was doing right now was clearing the mental debris. Tomorrow would be the real work. She stilled her breathing, concentrating on the breaths, working to visualize the stress and pain and fear leaving her body with each exhale, and clean white energy entering with each inhale. Like she had guessed, it didn't do much good. She was too busy fighting her own exhaustion. Soon she had to give up or accept that she'd be sleeping against the tree instead of tucked into the bedroll that Fili now shared with her each night.

Thankfully, the dreams didn't come. Whether because her mind was just too exhausted to conjure up images to taunt to her with, or because the feel of Fili wrapping his arms tightly around her, the heat and smell of his skin so near to her face, made her feel safe, Moira didn't know. She didn't care, either. She was just glad to be free of the nightmares, if only for one night. 

_~000~_

“Are you sure you shouldn't eat something first?” Bilbo looked up at her, a worried expression fixed on his face. The fussy Hobbit was adorable when he was worried, but he had every right to be worried right now.

Moira ignored the way her stomach was flip-flopping and tried to give her friend a reassuring smile. “No, that would just anchor me in my body more. I need my mind free. Just coffee, please.”

Tauriel was sitting a little ways away, conversing quietly with Kili. The young Dwarf had an intense expression on his face, and after a moment Tauriel leaned forward and kissed him softly. Moira felt a stab of guilt at the risk she was asking the Elf to take on her behalf. She fervently hoped that this wasn't the last conversation that Tauriel and Kili would be having. The star-crossed lovers deserved better than that. Moira looked around for Fili, realizing he wasn't in camp.

“Where's Fili?” Moira asked when Bilbo returned with the requested cup of hot coffee for her.

“He went to check your snares for you. You didn't notice because you were … meditating, you called it?”

“Oh.” Moira had been so occupied by the task ahead of her that she had forgotten about her usual daily activities here in Middle-Earth. That thought made her feel uneasy. Rahl wasn't here and he was already upsetting everything.

She sipped her coffee as Bilbo sat beside her. She felt like the little Hobbit wanted to talk, but Moira couldn't right now. Her mind was clearer than it had been in a while, due to the mediation, and she couldn't afford to fill it with gunk again. Presently Fili emerged from the trees, carrying three limp rabbits and a martin. Her snares had done their job. They'd have meat today.

“Bilbo, would you mind cooking these?” Fili tossed them to the Hobbit before he could answer. Although he fumbled a bit, Bilbo _did_ catch them. He beamed with pride at his accomplishment before setting to his task, taking out a skinning knife Moira had given him to start preparing the day's food. Apparently the quest had greatly improved his hand-eye coordination. She'd make a Ranger of the Hobbit yet. Moira smiled at the thought of Bilbo as Middle-Earth's shortest Ranger before turning her attention back to Fili, who came now to sit beside her. He leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on her lips in greeting. His beard tickled her face and the mithril beads of his braided mustache brushed her chin. She smiled softly against his lips before he drew back. Gods, she had missed him.

“How are you feeling, amrâlimê?” Fili asked as he settled his bulky frame next to her slimmer one. He rested one of his hands on her knee, and if she didn't have more serious things to think about right now, she knew that small action would light a fire inside of her.

“Well enough, considering. I slept reasonably well.”

“Good.” Fili smiled his trademarked soft smile at her, rubbing her knee gently, and Moira's stomach fluttered. _If only we could just be two people in love_ , she thought wistfully.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Hela, no. But I have to try.”

He nodded in understanding.

“Would you like breakfast first? You'll need your strength.”

Moira shook her head.

“No, like I was just telling Bilbo, that will anchor me to my body too much. It's not strength of the body I need for this, but strength of the mind and the soul. Besides, eating afterwards will be best, it'll help me to come back down from the magic.”

Fili nodded. He was being incredibly supportive, considering how unhappy Moira knew he must be with this plan. She understood his reservations. He had promised to defend her, but if something went wrong during this exercise, his swords would be of no use. He had wanted to wait to find Gandalf before attempting something like this. But Moira explained that the longer they waited, the harder it would be to break the bond between herself and Rahl. That had convinced Fili to consent to the plan. But it would not relieve his concerns.

Moira reached for his other hand, capturing it in hers, and bought it to her mouth. Looking him deeply in his incredible sapphire eyes, she kissed the backs of his knuckles.

“I love you, Fili.” she breathed softly, and she saw his eyes darken slightly. Moira had promised herself that she would say it to him often, since she didn't know how long they would have together, before … _No, don't think about that_. She firmly stopped that line of thought in its tracks. He reached for her then, clearly intending to draw her into a more passionate kiss. But Moira draw back, shaking her head.

“I'd kiss you, but I need to keep my head in the game.” She repeated back to him exactly the words he said to her at Ravenhill before they had separated to search the Goblin tunnels. Fili nodded, understanding the gravity of their situation. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips and mirrored her earlier action, and it was almost as dangerous to Moira's peace of mind. They had still not had the chance to make love, and she ached to be with him again. Thankfully, Tauriel approached them at that moment, giving Moira something safe to focus her attention on.

Tauriel smiled gently down at them. “Should I give you a few more minutes?” She asked sincerely.

Moira shook her head. “No, any more time alone, and I'll have to meditate all over again.”

Fili chuckled, a warm deep sound she had not heard in forever. Moira shot him a look, and the soft smile tugging at his full lips widened into a grin, his blue eyes dancing. Tauriel was watching with amusement, and Moira scrambled to her feet before her mind (and body) could betray her and lead her to a line of thinking that she did NOT have time for.

Moira stalked away, forcing herself not to look back at Fili. This was _serious_ , Godsdammit! She stilled her breathing and walked a short distance away. When she came to a particularly grassy spot near some strong-looking trees, she dropped to her knees and sat cross-legged. Tauriel did the same, facing her. Moira had already explained what she was going to do, that she would start by herself and reach for Tauriel's hands if she needed the strength of the Elf's fëa to bolster her own efforts.

Moira closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Once again she concentrated on the white light of her breath, borrowing minute quantities of life-force from the trees and grass all around her. Not enough to harm the forest, but just enough from each that it gave her strength. She carefully added it to the Spark inside her, the tiny Spark of magic that both Rahl and Zedd had added to and multiplied. Rahl in his attempt to first steal her 'ability' to walk between worlds, and then later to turn her into his weapon; Zedd in an attempt to fix the spiritual damage that Rahl had done. Despite how long it had been, Moira fell easily into the pattern and the world around her quickly fell away. Feeling the calmness that came from the simple life of roots and stones around her, drawing a tranquil screen across her mind from the forest that cradeled her, she carefully approached the vibrant cord that connected her to the mad ruler of D'Hara.

Immediately she noticed that the cord was slightly thicker than before, and this time it's glow was brighter and had taken on a red tint. Rahl had been working to strengthen it. It hummed with his power, with both Additive and Subtractive magic – the magic of life, and much rarer, the magic of death. That was one of the (many, many) things that made Rahl so dangerous. Few wizards were born with Subtractive magic, the magic of the Underworld, anymore, and it must be bartered for with the God of Death. A true War Wizard had not been born in 3,000 years, not since the Great Wizard War. Not counting Richard, of course.

As she drew closer, she felt the connection strum, almost with excitement at her presence. Moira took a deep breath, and as she did so, she gathered all her power to her, shaping the energy into the shape of a great blade. With all the mental force she could muster, she bought it down hard on the cord connecting her to Rahl.

Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her head reeled and her teeth rattled with the impact. The cord thrummed angrily, but lay intact. Breathing deeply, Moira tried again, harder this time. She winced as pain suddenly bloomed within her, a familiar sharp burning in her soul that caused her to bite down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood. Eyes still squeezed shut, Moira's hands groped out blindly. She felt Tauriel's long, slim fingers glide around hers, and distantly she was aware of Tauriel's voice chanting something in Elvish. Moira clenched Tauriel's hands in hers, and tried again. This time, she drew a fraction of Tauriel's essence to her as well as her own power and the life-force of the trees and foliage around them. The soul-bright swell of power from the Elf-maiden gave her courage, and once again Moira formed the magic into a sharp knife and bought it down hard on the vile, pulsating cord.

The stars exploded again, but this time they moved, rushing by her in a blur that reminded her of the lifetime immediately previous to Middle-Earth, when the _Ghost_ would slide into hyperspace to escape Imperial pursuit hot on the little Rebel ship. But where was she rushing to now? Moira spun so fast that she could find no purchase. She tried to reach out with her Sense, but all she was aware of was the angrily pulsating cord connecting her to Rahl. To her horror, she realized she was rushing _along_ it.

When the blackness cleared, Moira was no longer in a forest, but indoors. The room was dim, but when her eyes adjusted to the darkness, icy fingers of fear gripped her. She was in Rahl's dungeons. Moira remembered every detail intimately, and finding herself here again filled her with cold terror. The room was round, built of light tan-colored stone. There were two archways on opposing sides leading to halls, other torture chambers, and the dungeon cells she had slept in for over a month. That is, on the nights that he didn't just leave her hanging from the ceiling. Like the woman in the center of the stone room was hanging now. Her wrists were bound and pulled painfully far above her head, suspending her more 2 feet off the floor by a thick, strong chain. She swayed slightly with every minute movement. Below her was an iron grate built into the stone floor. To catch the runoff of blood. And right now the sharp iron tang hung heavy in the air, the strength and thickness of the scent indicating that Rahl's victim had already bled copious amounts. She had most likely already died and been revived at least once. The woman – girl, really – was naked, except for two wide leather bands, one binding her breasts, one slung low on her hips to cover her sex. The tiny amount of modesty could be removed whenever Lord Rahl felt the inclination to do so, Moira knew. The woman's body was covered in ugly deep cuts, purple welts and bruises in various stages of healing. Her head was hanging forward, as if she didn't have the energy left to hold it up. Her shoulder-length dark hair obscured her face.

Moira thought she would be sick. _This woman could be my twin …_ Her face was slightly thinner, and although it was hard to tell with the poor thing trussed up the way she was, Moira thought she was taller than her. But other than that, the poor child – for she was much younger than Moira – looked just like her. The chilling thought made her realize that until he was able to reach her, Rahl had been taking his rage out on anyone who reminded him of her. _Gods help any girl in D'Hara or the Midlands who looks like me_.

It took Moira a moment to realize that something wasn't quite right. She was standing too tall, _looming_ over the girl practically, even with her suspension, and the dark brown hair that had fallen in her face was far too short. The realization hit her as hard as if she'd been struck with an agiel, Rahl's favored magical torture instrument. She _wasn't_ standing in the room, not herself. Of course she wasn't. She hadn't jumped back across dimensions, no, she was seeing through Rahl's eyes. Like he had seen through hers a few days ago. Instead of breaking the cord connecting them, her consciousness had been pulled along it in the opposite direction. _Rahl_ was standing in the dungeon, _Rahl_ was looming over the girl. Moira was just along for the ride. _Oh, Gods, no, I don't want to watch this_. But she wouldn't have to. It wasn't long before he became aware of her presence.

 ** _Hello, little dove. How kind of you to visit._** His voice was smug, even in his mind, and she could hear the smirk in it, as well as feel her lips – no, his lips – curl into his customary expression of smug satisfaction. Oh, this was weird. _ **And you brought a friend.**_

 _Tauriel_. Moira slowly became aware of the Elf's presence, alongside her mind but not touching it, not communicating with her as Rahl was. Somehow she had dragged Tauriel along with her. And now there were three of them inside Rahl's head. Oh, this was too strange. All of Moira's experiences could not have possibly prepared her for this.

Rahl's mind reached out for the first time, caressing hers, before turning aside, and the exploratory probe paused. **_She's not human_**. Moira had never heard Rahl sound so …. stunned. Not even when Richard had killed him. He had howled with rage, yes, but surprise? No, there had been a prophecy, after all, as much as he had tried to prevent it from coming to pass. But the fascination underneath his surprise chilled Moira to the depths of her soul. And then: **_She's immortal!!_** The cruel joy in this tone would have made Moira flinch if she was still in her body. **_What interesting allies you've gained in my absence._**

Moira gathered her power to her, summoning all of her mental strength, to raise layer after layer of shields. She felt Rahl's own magic swell in response, and he hardened the malevolent wave into a point and shattered them all, far too easily. His voiceless laughter seemed to echo. _ **The First Wizard taught you well, little dove, but your power could never hope to match mine.**_ Moira was certain she was doomed, and that she had doomed Tauriel, too.

Suddenly, Moira felt a wave of power, as bright and pure as Rahl's was dark and malevolent, and it crashed against his onslaught, actually succeeding in pushing the dark wave of power backwards. _Tauriel_. The Elf's _fëa_ engulfed Moira, drawing her protectively closer, bathing her in a glow of Light that felt like sunrise breaking through the chill of a freezing February morning, except a moment before it had seemed like the winter night would last for an eternity. The purity of the Elf's spirit was unimaginably piercing in its beauty, pure Light spun into a living being, and if Moira was in her body she was certain there would be tears in her eyes.

With the sudden strength of will that the Elf's presence lent her, Moira sought out the vibrating thread that would – she hoped – take them home. When she found it, pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat, she grasped it with all her soul's might and pulled. Rahl howled, throwing the force of his hatred and desire to dominate at them. Vaguely Moira was aware of his body being thrown against the stone wall from the force of too many different kinds of sorcery tangling and warring against each other as she and Tauriel raced along the thin pulsating cord, stars streaking by again, the world spinning around them, and she could have sworn that this time she felt the sensation of a cool wind blowing in her hair, but that was obviously impossible.

Moira's soul crashed back into her body. Her eyes flew open and she gasped a heaving breath.

She blinked, eyes slowly learning to focus again. “Moira!” She looked up into Fili's bright, worried eyes, and tried to smile at him, but it came out in a grimace. He rocked her gently and kissed her desperately.

Just as quickly, he pulled back.“Amrâlimê, I thought I lost you.” He murmured into her hair. “I'm – I'm okay.” Moira managed. She turned her head, and saw that Kili was holding Tauriel in a mirror of the way that Fili was cradling her. As she became more aware of her body again, she realized her hand was still clutched tightly in Tauriel's. The Elf's grip was so tight it hurt, but that wasn't Moira's concern. Tauriel's face was pale and her eyes still screwed tightly shut.

“Tauriel?” She choked out. “Is she …?” _Please, Odin, not like this!_

Just then, the Elf took a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered open. Moira's breath eased slightly. She hadn't gotten her killed. Yet. The relief spreading across Kili's face still felt like a knife to Moira's heart as she realized how close they had been. Tauriel looked her way, and the Elf's hazel eyes locked onto her dark ones. She squeezed Moira's hand for a moment before letting it go and turning her attention back to her lover. Tauriel knew, now. She had felt Rahl, had met him, in a way. She understood now the danger they were in.

Moira struggled to sit up. “Easy,” Fili admonished her gently. “Be careful.” One of his strong hands was on her back, supporting her, while his other clasped one of her small ones in his, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. It felt so good to be touched by him again. Not even sexually, just to be close to him. She leaned into his body, and Fili pulled her to him. Despite Moira's guilt about dragging Fili into such danger, she was glad for his support. He kissed the top of her head.

“Did it work? Did you break it?” The worried question came from Bilbo, who was crouched nearby, his eyes wide and shining.. Moira wondered if either of them had screamed, to make Bilbo's face look like that. She had to think for a second to comprehend the meaning of the words that Bilbo had said. But once she had, Moira didn't have to reach out with her Sense and check to know that they had failed. She exchanged a glance with Tauriel.

“No.”

There were sharp intakes of breath from the others.

“I felt him.” Tauriel was speaking, looking into Kili's eyes. “He's powerful.”

Fili was silent beside Moira, but his hand was rubbing circles gently on her back.

“There are no Elves there, are there?” Tauriel asked, sliding her eyes back to Moira. “He sounded surprised when he felt my presence.”

“No. No Elves.” Moira felt bone-tired. _Again _. “There are a great deal of magical creatures, but few of them are humanoid.” She thought of the forest of the Night Wisps where Kahlan would sometimes go for advice on important matters, and she wished she had access to the gentle little creatures' wisdom now.__

“Humanoid?” Bilbo's brow furrowed.

“Oh.” Moira sighed. “Two arms, two legs, one head, intelligent enough to talk. All of our races fall into that category.” _So do Orcs, but no reason to mention that_ , she thought to herself.

Before anyone could ask any more questions, Tauriel said what Moira knew to be true but had been loath to acknowledge.

“He's coming to Middle-Earth.”

“I …. think so. He's going to try.”

Fili's grip tightened around her, and she felt his chin about her head. She buried herself deeper into Fili's chest, willing herself not to think about the implications until they got to the safety of Rivendell.

Tauriel was quiet. “Did we make it worse?”

Moira barked out a laugh as she thought of one of Zedd's all-important lessons. “Wizard's Second Rule.”

Four blank faces stared at her.

“Sometimes the greatest harm can come from the best intentions.”

Moira expected to see fear on the Elf's face, but instead Tauriel nodded, an expression of grim determination setting in now.

“We must make haste to Rivendell.”

~000~

Far away, in another wood, this one filled with light and song and laughter, the Lady Galadriel turned her blue eyes to the sky above her. She had felt a shadow growing for some time, since before the White Council had confronted the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. There in the depths of the ruined castle, they had discovered the identity of the mysterious sorcerer: none other than the Dark Lord Sauron himself, albeit in a weakened state. Three Istari and two ancient Elves bearing Rings of Power, they had cast him out and sent him back to Mordor. And still, it was a close battle. But the Lady Galadriel was not fool enough to think it would end there. She was old, very old, and had seen much. She knew it was inevitable that he would arise again to threaten the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth, but the Council had estimated that they had at least a century to prepare before Mordor would become a serious threat.

But the sudden burst of malevolence Galadriel had just perceived was new, and perhaps had the power to re-order the threads of fate. Whatever it's origin, this new power was without a doubt a harbinger of ill things to come. The Lady of Lorien stilled her thoughts and reached out for a mind she knew so well, the one called the Grey Pilgrim.

**_Mithrandir, you must make for Rivendell, at haste. Something is rising that could change the face of Middle-Earth forever._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, thoughts??? Reviews would be even more appreciated than usual!!! I'm not sure how well I was able to convey the non-corporeal battle going on in someone else's brain and I'd love to hear what people are thinking, both about this turn of events, and about how well I pulled it off (if I did at all).  
> And, yes, I retconned how far the Maggot farm is from Bag End a bit, I wrote it being a lot closer in Chapter 12. I'm re-reading Fellowship of the Ring to try to get the cannon correct and I had severely underestimated the size of the Shire, so this should be a little closer, but it's still hard to tell for sure the exact size.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, one last thing. Because I'm completely obsessive and insane, and this story has kind of possessed me and just won't give me any peace, I made a long playlist on YouTube of fanvideos of the major universes that Moira has been to. These aren't all of them, just the ones that were the most important to her or had the most transformative experiences (even some that I haven't gone over yet much in the story). I started it for me, and this playlist is going a lot on my entertainment computer (I write on my laptop) but I thought I'd share in case anyone cared at all, which you probably won't, but whatever. Obviously, there are MAJOR spoilers for: the Hobbit; Game of Thrones; Vikings; Defiance; Legend of the Seeker; Star Wars Rebels; and Supernatural. So if you haven't seen any of those shows yet and don't want to be spoiled, then don't click. You can watch it in order or on shuffle. Its a long playlist, over 220 videos. Yes, yes, I know, I'm completely and totally nuts. So sue me. Apparently when I write a story it _completely_ consumes me. I'm thinking of trying to figure out how to make my own fan videos for Moira and Fili when the story is done, but I've never done any video editing, like _ever_ , so that will be a new learning experience.  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLifJL65fP6Q17KGhtTYZfkIjdf8EPSWWO
> 
> EDIT (8/24/17): I tend to edit it a lot too, and the second one (if you go to Chapter 28 there is a link to fanmix that is just music, instead of fanvids. Its mostly Moira/Fili but also includes a few songs for the fucked up relationship between her and Rahl). So sometimes if you go back there will be more songs. There's almost 300 videos on the first playlist now. Because I'm nuts.


	21. Left in Laketown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events in Laketown leading up to Smaug's attack, including more smut.

_back on the quest, while still in Laketown …..._

The Company had not been impressed with the “weapons” that Bard procured for them. They were all fashioned from old tools, and the closest to actual weapons were a fishing harpoon and a smithy's hammer. But really, what did they expect? The people of Laketown had _no _resources. Moira was certain she could kill an Orc with the harpoon if she needed to, but to be honest she didn't want it to be her only defense if she could help it. The smithy hammer would be far too heavy for her to carry during a prolonged battle, but of course the Dwarves were not likely to have that problem. As for the rest, well. There wasn't much to be said about the rest of the “weapons”. Moira knew Bard had tried his best, but with what the Company had ahead of them, they simply would not do. During the ensuring argument, Bard had let slip that the only iron-forged weapons were in the City Armory, and there was no chance of him getting in there, and the look that Thorin had shared with Balin told it all.__

____

Which was how she ended up here, captured by Laketown's guards with the entire Company, being roughly pushed towards to the center of town to be confronted by the Master. They were in the square outside the Large House, and the guard who had searched her (a little too thoroughly and for a little too long) was gripping her elbow as they waited outside. A huge crowd was gathered to watch them, whispering to themselves. _This is probably the most excitement they've had in, oh, ever._

“What is the meaning of this?!” Out strode the Master, and _ugh_ , he was gross. His long, stringy orange hair (orange, mind you, not red), was brushed over his bald head, as if that would somehow hide his baldness. His stringy mustache and pathetic excuse for a beard was as dirty and unkempt as the rest of him. His eyes were large and watery, his teeth yellow, and he reeked of rotting flesh. Even from where Moira was standing she could smell him. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Caught them stealing weapons, sire.” the lead Guardsman addressed the Master.

“Enemies of the state, eh?” he crowed as if he had caught and subdued them himself.  


“A desperate group of mercenaries if ever there was one, sire.” Alfrid was hunched over as he spoke, but his eyes were only on her. He actually leered. Moira's fingers twitched, longing to punch him.  


“Hold your tongue!” Dwalin bellowed, stepping forward. “You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal. This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór!”

Thorin stepped forward, striking his most majestic pose. “We are the Dwarves of Erebor. We have come to reclaim our homeland.” When the whispering sweeping through the crowd intensified, Thorin turned to face them, stepping up onto the stairs to increase his height and look the gathered population of Manfolk in the eyes.

“I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake!” Thorin's deep baritone rose in both power and volume as he spoke, easily holding the attention of the people. “This was the _center_ of all trade in the North! I would see those days return! I would relight the great forges of the Dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from Erebor.”

Cheers broke out.

“Death!” Bard's voice rang out across the square, cutting through the merriment. He was pushing his way through the guards. “That is what you will bring upon us! Dragonfire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all!”

Thorin addressed the gathered onlookers, instead of Bard himself. “You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this: If we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the Mountain. You shall have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!” The crowd erupted into cheering. But of course, Alfrid had to put a damper on their good mood.

“Why should we take you at your word? We know nothing about you.” Alfrid sneered. _Does he have any other expression?_ Moira couldn't help but think as the slime-ball continued. “Who here can speak for your character?”

“We will!” Bilbo's voice rang out loud and clear, holding up one of his hands as he did so. He looked up at Moira for a moment, questioning, and she nodded back, smiling warmly. The fair-haired Hobbit grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, drawing all eyes in the square to them. “We have traveled far with these Dwarves, through great danger – “

Moira spoke up, lending her support to Bilbo's voice. “They are brave and honorable, and have risked their lives for me – us – when they didn't have to.”

“– and if Thorin Oakenshield makes a promise, he _will_ keep it!”

“Listen to me, all of you!” Bard appealed to the crowd. “Have you forgotten what happened to Dale? Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm? And for what purpose? The blind ambition of a mountain king, so riven with greed, he could not see beyond his own desire?”

The glare that Thorin shot Bard then was frightening, and not for the first time, Moira thought that it was a very good thing that looks could not kill. Almost everybody Thorin had ever met would be dead from the force of his glaring powers if that was the case. But it was clear by now whose side the Master had decided to fall on, as he berated Bard for his ancestor's failure to kill Smaug. It wasn't long before Bard stormed off, casting a particularly reproachful glare her way. _What was THAT for?_ Moira didn't have long to think about it, however, as the Company was being ushered into the Large House for an impromptu celebration.

~000~

The following party was raucous and most of the Dwarves really got into it. Particularly Bofur, who soon ended up singing and dancing on top of one of the tables. Moira had lost count of how many pints of ale he had drank. But Moira had only one thought. She barely touched her fish stew. As soon as she could, she caught Fili's eye from across the room, and gave him her best come-hither look, before turning and heading up the stairs to the private rooms that the Master had provided. She didn't look back to see if he followed, but when she was halfway up the stairs and heard a pair of loud Dwarvish boots taking the steps two at a time, she smirked to herself. Soon she was in her room, and she heard someone enter behind her and close the door.

Moira turned, and Fili was leaning against the door, arms crossed and smirking at her. He still had his golden hair bound back into the tight Viking braid she had given him, which gave her an unobscured view of his strong, ruggedly handsome features. Over the poorly-fitting human clothing from Bard, he was now wearing pieces of metal armor that had been given to the Company by the Master, which clearly came from the Laketown guards. Two pauldrons covered his shoulders, connected in front and back by a leather strap and buckle. Despite the worn nature of the hard-spun clothes beneath the armor, he looked magnificent. He leaned causally against the door, the flat of one foot braced against it. His brilliant blue eyes were scanning her body, looking her up and down.

“So, I guess you're not hungry.” she tried to sound causal even as the way he was looking at her was filling her mind with all sorts of naughty images.

He growled deep in his throat. “Not for anything they're serving downstairs.”

Damn, he was a silver-tongued devil, wasn't he. His eyes still locked on hers, he very slowly, methodically, reached out and turned the lock on the door. _Click_. Moira's stomach fluttered madly. “We have an actual bed tonight,” Fili stated. He pushed himself from the door now, using the foot that had been braced on it. He stalked towards her slowly, purposefully. His eyes blazed as he continued.“And tomorrow we may be facing a dragon.”

“Are you giving me the last-night-on-earth speech?” She teased him playfully.

“Perhaps.” He was almost upon her now. “Maybe I just thought I was being smooth.”

Moira smiled down at him. “You were. It was _very_ sexy.”

“Good.” Fili stretched upwards then, and Moira met his questing lips eagerly, eyes fluttering shut. One of his large hands landed on her hip, pulling her possessively closer. Her hands landed on his hard chest. She could feel the heat radiating from his body through his clothes as their tongues tangled in their dance. His kiss was hard, desperate, instead of gentle like how he usually started. He kissed her like he was trying to devour her, like he was starving and she was the first bit of food he'd seen in weeks. The hand on her hip slid around her waist and downwards, cupping her backside and giving it a squeeze. Moira moaned into his mouth. He broke away for just a moment, nibbling her bottom lip as he did so, drawing another moan from her. “I've been wanting to do that _all day_ ,” He breathed. “Ever since we escaped those damned Elves.” He nipped at her neck, drawing a gasp, and then set to soothing the mark he had left with kisses. Her hands were clinging to his neck as she swayed slightly from the force of his attentions.

This whole affair was stupid, Moira knew. Everyday she was falling more in love with him. If she couldn't save him, it would absolutely crush her. Even if she did manage to keep him alive, after the battle he would have a responsibility to carry on the Line of Durin. Meaning he'd have to marry some Darrowdam from a noble family. Letting herself fall for a prince was beyond stupid. There was no way they would have a happy ending here. But her heart had always had a mind of its own, and it never learned its fucking lesson, it seemed. So Moira figured she might as well enjoy the ride while she could.

Her hand slid around his neck, and she pulled hard at the thick braid she had given him, and he hissed in response, his eyes darkening. “Bed. Now.” he commanded.

Moira giggled, and she couldn't resist teasing him. “Oh, we aren't going to take our time?” She pouted, throwing his words from a few nights ago back at him. “Savor every moment?”

“There will be plenty of time for that later.” He kissed her again, hungrily, his tongue ravaging her mouth, making Moira's entire body quiver with anticipation. As he kissed her, he pushed her forward, backing her towards the bed, until the backs of her knees hit the mattress and she was falling backwards into its soft embrace. Then Fili was climbing on top of her, sliding his large hot hands under the ill-fitting dress as he did so, gliding up her thighs. His blue eyes were dark and stormy as he growled out: “I'm going to take you every which way, and then take you again.”

 _Oh Gods yes_. All Moira could do was moan in response as he claimed her lips again while his fingers sought out her center. She gasped his name into his mouth, and all thought fled from her as his thick digits brushed aside her smallclothes and swirled around her hole. Fili pulled his mouth from hers and began to lick her ear.

“Oh, Mahal, you're practically ready for me _right now_ ,” Fili purred into her ear. “Are you always this wet, or is it just for me?”

“It's you, Fili,” Moira gasped, bucking against his hand. “You turn me on so much!”

“Good.” he growled, and the feralness of the sound made Moira shudder as his mouth closed around the shell of her ear, teeth nipping almost painfully. Fili's fingers plunged into her, and she couldn't keep herself from crying out. “I'm going to fuck you into next week.” He promised in a throaty, husky voice. Fili's mouth moved to the crook of her neck, biting down roughly as his fingers set a fast and steady pace within her core.

“Yes, _please!_ ” Moira pressed herself down onto his hand desperately, fucking herself on two of his thick digits. Her hands went to his back, and she fumbled to undo the buckle holding on the metal shoulder-guards. When it came apart she tossed them aside, and his mouth descended on hers again, his tongue spearing into her mouth, as his fingers were doing the same between her thighs. His free hand went to her breast, fondling her roughly through the suddenly unbearably heavy fabric of the dress, and Moira wiggled and mewled in response. The sound elicited a growl from Fili. His hand came up to the top collar of the dress and, not bothering to undo the buttons, he _ripped_ downwards. The dress came apart from neck to waist, parting to reveal her breasts. Moira heard the buttons _pinging_ off to distant parts of the room, even as her vision clouded with stars from the rough pawing she was receiving from Fili's calloused hands.

“H-Hey,” Moira managed to pant out. “I was going to return that dress to Sigrid!”

Fili shrugged. “I'll buy her a nicer one with the gold in Erebor.”

He savagely attacked the now-exposed breasts, his mouth sucking and biting the delicate flesh, and Moira completely forgot her objections as his hot mouth enveloped the almost painfully hard point, his tongue swirling around it, bringing more gasps and moans from her.

“I've been holding myself back since the river,” he nipped at her pink nipple, causing another loud moan to fall from her lips. “I need you _now_ ,” his voice was hoarse with desire.  


“Gods, Fili, yes,” Her hands went to the sash serving as a belt, and she struggled to untie it, as Fili had clamped his mouth onto her other nipple and showed no sign of letting go. He was suckling her as if he was a babe, and Moira writhed under his weight. Once the sash/belt was off of him, she hauled him back up to her mouth again, once again using the thick braid on the back of his head for leverage. When his face came to hover above hers again, his pupils were so dilated she could barely see the blue of his eyes. He growled again and bit her lips, and when she gasped in response he plundered her mouth with his tongue again. Through it all he continued to fuck her with his fingers, and he added a third now, making her cry out. Moira pushed the over-sized brown coat off of his shoulders, and he finally pulled his fingers from her heat in order to shrug off the offending garment. He pulled the underlying tunic off as well, so now he was bare-chested, wearing only his trousers and boots.

Moira barely had time to admire the sight of his well-muscled chest before his mouth was crashing on hers again. He hauled her to her feet, never breaking the heated kiss.

“F-Fili,” she moaned his name into his mouth, and Fili savored the feeling of her body trembling against him. He pushed the sleeves of the dress off of her shoulders and down to her waist. She deftly wiggled out of it, and it pooled around her feet, leaving her wearing only her linen smallclothes, which had grown increasingly wet as the result of their activities. Fili gripped her by the hip and pulled her to him, plastering her nearly-naked body to his, letting her feel the hard length in his pants. Her hands went to his chest, she braced herself against his hard muscle as she felt nearly dizzy as she shamelessly rubbed herself against his body.

She leaned down to kiss him, but instead raised his right hand to her mouth, two of his fingers still coated in her slickness. He spread that sweet oil over her bottom lip, and to his surprise, Moira eagerly sucked the thick digits into her mouth. She set to sucking her own juices from his fingers, her delicate tongue swirling around the end of each finger teasingly, her eyes locked on his blazing blue ones as she did so. _“Mahal,”_ he groaned as she continued to suckle his fingers. The warm wetness of her mouth was driving him crazy, and even though it was just his hand she was ministering to, it sent fire to another part of his body that he would dearly love to see her dark pink lips wrapped around.

His wish was granted. After a few more moments of the sweet torture, she pulled the fingers from her mouth with the sound of a small _pop!_ “Fili,” her voice was a breathy whisper. “I want to suck your cock.” Fili nodded dumbly, not sure if he could possibly say anything coherent at this point. She grinned wickedly then, dropping to her knees in front of him. For a moment she fondled him through the rough-spun fabric of his pants, and Fili couldn't control the way his body buckled into her, begging for more contact. When she finally drew his manhood from his trousers, pushing his smallclothes down with the breeches, the head of his cock was already weeping. She gave him one last smirk before she leaned forward, darting out her tongue to swipe the slit, lapping up the precum that betrayed his excitement.

Fili heard a keening sound, and it took him a moment to realize it had come from him. She smirked again, before taking the head in her mouth and beginning to suck. His hands found their way to her hair, and Fili concentrated on not shoving himself fully into her mouth as he revealed in the sensation. One of her hands gripped his cock tightly at the base, and she slowly let the head of his manhood slip out of her mouth, swirling her magnificent tongue around the head of his cock before enveloping it again in the wet heat of her mouth. Fili watched her at first, fascinated to see so much of his manhood disappear into her mouth, and then reappear, slick with her saliva, before she took it again. She couldn't take the entire shaft into her mouth, it fact she probably managed only about half, but with her other hand tightly gripping the base of his cock, it didn't matter. Soon Fili was lost, throwing his head back, eyes shut, moaning her name repeatedly as one hand gripped her shoulder tightly, and the other gently caressed the braids he had given her only hours before.

“Yes, lass, that's it. Just like that, Moira,” Fili felt his entire body strung as taut as a bowstring, and he knew he was close to his release. When he began to feel her voice vibrating around his cock, he looked down in surprise, and found that her unoccupied hand had slipped between her legs. She was rubbing herself vigorously through her smallclothes as she sucked him off, and he could feel her moans around him as she neared her own completion. The sensation, combined with the sight of her below him, finally undid him.

“Oh Mahal, _yes!_ ” Against his will Fili's other hand gripped her hair and his hips bucked forward as he came, burying himself deeper in her mouth as his body shuddered and emptied him of seed. Moira gagged slightly, but took it all, swallowing his release dutifully. As he came down, panting, Fili realized what he had done. A little guiltily, he released her hair and pulled his softening cock from her mouth. But she looked up at him with a pleased smile, not seeming to mind too much. A little of his seed had overflowed from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin.

Fili pulled her up to him, wiping at the white fluid at the corner of her mouth with his thumb, smiling as he did so, before kissing her passionately. “That was amazing, lass,” He breathed. “Did you finish yourself?”

“No, not yet.”

Fili nodded and started to lower himself to his own knees in front of her, but Moira pulled away from him, shaking her head. She wiggled out of the smallclothes, and then turned away, walking to the edge of the bed and planting her hands flat on mattress. She spread her legs wide so that he was greeted with an intoxicating view of her quivering womanhood, sopping wet and waiting for him to fill it. She smirked over her shoulder at him. “I want you to take me from behind.” Fili groaned, running his hand down her back as the fingers of his other hand came to grasp his manhood tightly, beginning to slowly pump himself back to hardness. His hand glided over her, mapping her curves, to squeeze the firm roundness of her behind, and he slipped his fingers between her cheeks, brushing the puckered hole there momentarily before he dipped further downwards, to graze her soaking wet folds. She shuddered at his touch, but her bewitching dark eyes never left his.

“Mahal, you are a treasure,” Fili marveled at her total lack of shame. In her heated gaze there was no evidence of the nervousness about her body that so many of the lasses he had bedded displayed. _How did I get so lucky?_ He thought to himself. But instead he asked her “Are you ready?” his throat nearly closing up in the force of his anticipation.

She nodded at him, and Fili stepped closer to her, still grasping the base of his cock in one hand as he spread her folds with the fingers of the other. Part of him wanted to tease her, to make her beg for him as he had that night outside of Mirkwood, but Fili didn't think he could take that right now. Instead he slowly bought the head of his thick cock to her entrance, and he watched her face carefully as he slid inside. Her eyes squeezed shut at the intrusion, and at the same time a moan ripped from her throat, and Fili struggled to keep from increasing to a breakneck pace right away. Instead he slid slowly out and back in, giving her time to adjust to his girth. He continued like this for several strokes, going a little deeper each time, until a breathless _“Please,”_ fell from her swollen, well-kissed lips.

Fili knew he was smirking as he carefully increased the pace, because she was pushing back against him insistently. And _oh Mahal_ , the tightness of her fitting around him, the coolness of her human skin under his hands, the breathy way she gasped his name out as he angled himself carefully to find that secret place inside her. He reached around with one hand to cup her breast. They were not overly large, but not small either. They fit perfectly into his hands, as if they had been made to do so. She moaned when he cupped her, and he felt the nipple harden beneath his fingers. He twirled the nub in his fingertips as he pumped into her, and soon the gentleness of his thrusts was gone, replaced by the primal need of an animal at rut.

“Moira,” he was moaning her name now, and the breathless sound of it shot fire straight to her groin. “My Moira. _Mine._ All mine.” He was punctuating each word with a savage thrust deep into her core, holding her hips tightly with one hand to control the depth of the penetration, not letting her buck back against him as her body was desperate to do.

“Y-yes, Fili, I'm yours, all yours!” she responded, making Fili growl and fuck her harder. His head dropped to rest against her shoulder blade as he continued to pump into her. His large hand was still fondling her breast, and when he suddenly pinched and twisted the nipple harshly, she cried out loudly. “FILI! Oh yes, _again_ , harder, _fuck me!_ ” He sped up now, biting and sucking on her neck, as he continued to roughly abuse her nipple, drawing moans and gasps from her that lit him on fire even more. Fili could feel his orgasm approaching, but he refused to let it take him until she found her release. From the strangled sounds she was making and the tremors starting to ripple through her body, he wouldn't have to wait long. He grit his teeth, struggling to maintain control, and let the hand on her breast slip lower, gliding down the taut muscle of her stomach, past her bellybutton, to find the little bundle of nerves just above where they were joined. When she threw back her head, gasping desperately as Fili stroked her clit, he swallowed her cries with his mouth. She turned her head towards him, kissing him back hungrily over her shoulder as he pounded his thick cock into her mercilessly and stroked her nubbin, swirling it between his thumb and forefinger. Fili felt her body shudder and her walls begin to clench around him, and he knew his own movements were becoming more erratic. Finally, she let out a strangled cry at the same time as her walls clamped tightly around him, and Fili finished a heartbeat afterwards, spilling his seed deep within her as her body shook and she cried out his name.

They were both breathing heavily as they came back down from their shared climax, the aftershocks rippling through their bodies almost in harmony. “Moira, amrâlimê,” Fili planted gentle kisses to her shoulder blade and the back of her neck as she recovered. She was still trembling, and he saw she was struggling to hold herself upright after the intensity of her orgasm. He wrapped his arm around her waist to support her suddenly boneless body as he slipped out of her, watching in pleased fascination as a little of his seed dribbled down her thighs when he did so. She swayed as he turned her around to kiss her, gently now. Her hands swept up his chest and clutched at his shoulders for support as their tongues glided together, gently probing each others mouths. His arms were still encircling her waist as they kissed, supporting her as she recovered her strength. “Fili,” She breathed in a reverent tone, resting her forehead against his. The corners of Fili's lips quirked upwards in a minuet smirk, and for a moment they both stood there, savoring their connection.

“Shall we try actually getting _into_ the bed this time, amrâlimê?” He asked her presently. Moira laughed lowly, tugging gently on one of his mustache braids as she did so. “We'd better. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to stand.”

Chuckling, he swept his arm up under her knees and swept her off of her feet. She made an adorable squeak of surprise, and her hands went automatically to his neck. He easily climbed into the bed, still carrying her somehow, and laid her against the blankets. He drew himself up over her, placing his weight on his forearms, planted on either side of her head. He gazed at her for a moment, watching her watch him with dark eyes drowsy with pleasure, before gently lowering his mouth to hers. The kiss was tender, his lips working carefully on hers, a caress more than a kiss, really.

“Amrâlimê,” He breathed against her lips.

“Amrâlimê,” she repeated back to him.

Fili started, pulling back to look at her, and to Moira's shock, began to laugh.

“What?” Moira was confused, which only made Fili laugh harder, dropping his head to the crook of her neck in an attempt to stifle the guffaws.

“Fili, what?!” she demanded. “What did I do? You've been calling me that since Mirkwood. I thought it meant 'I love you' or something.”

Realizing the gesture that she had been trying to make, and hearing the annoyance creeping into her voice, Fili made an effort to subdue the laughter bubbling up.

“It means 'my love'.” Fili's shoulders were still shaking, and his blue eyes were clearly amused beyond words. “But that's the feminine. It's only used to refer to lasses.” 

“Oh.” A flush of embarrassment crept up Moira's cheeks, and Fili thought it made her even lovelier. “Did I just call you a girl?” She really did seem terribly embarrassed.

“Aye, but it's alright.” His bearded lips were still smiling, although he forced his laughter down for her sake. “I know you're also attracted to lasses, so I'm not _too_ terribly offended.” He joked.

“Even after you just worked so hard to prove what a virile male you are?”

He laughed again, and shrugged, still hovering over her.

“You're very secure in your masculinity.”

He cocked an eyebrow at what was, to him, a very odd comment. “Any reason why I shouldn't be?”

“No, of course not. But most human males I've known would be horrified at what what I just did, and have to engage in a lot of ridiculous chest-thumping behavior.”

“Well, I'm not human.”

“No,” she said softly. “You're better.” Fili seemed pleased at that statement, and he bent to kiss her again, his tongue licking her lips, seeking entrance. She gladly granted it, sliding her hands up to caress his face, and for a while they just kissed and basked in the afterglow of their coupling. When he pulled away and rested his forehead to hers, eyes closed, soft smile on his full lips, she asked the question.

“What's the masculine version, then?”

“Amrâlumê.”

She looked up into his blue eyes. “Say it again.” It took her a few tries to wrap her tongue around the foreign word. When she finally got it, she looked him deeply in his incredibly bright blue eyes and whispered “Fili, Amrâlumê.”

Fili was sure it was sexiest thing he'd ever heard. He made love to her gently this time, soft and slow, taking his time to caress her body back into a conflagration of desire and need that had her burning for him again. He gazed into her dark eyes lovingly as their bodies tangled together and they became one once more. He told her he loved her while he was still inside of her. The intimacy was almost too much for Moira. She kissed him again, trying hard to feel only love and not fear as he kissed her like she was the only woman in the world, moving himself gently within her. She was _definitely_ going to drown in him.

 

~000~  
_the next morning …._

“You do know we're one short?” Bilbo huffed. “Where's Bofur?”

Thorin shrugged in response, not looking at the Hobbit that trailed after him as he pushed through the crowds.

“He's not here, we leave him behind.”

Balin stroked his white beard. “We'll have to, if we are to find the door before nightfall. We can risk no more delays.”

Moira stood on the dock, handing weapons and supplies to Dwalin and Ori, who were already in the first boat. When Kili made a move to join them, Thorin gently but firmly pulled him back “Not you. We must travel at speed. You will slow us down.”

Moira, sadly, had to agree with Thorin on this one, although she kept her mouth shut. Not only was he moving as if his entire body ached, but Kili had taken on a deathly-white pallor. If he went with them, Kili would not just be endangering the quest, but his own life. Despite these troubling facts, he put on his best innocent face, smiling his disarming, charming smile and attempting to use his puppy-dog eyes to get his uncle to change his mind.

“What are you talking about? I'm coming with you.”

Thorin shook his head, blue eyes sad, but his voice was firm as he continued to load weapons into the boat. 

“No.”

Kili, however, was not ready to concede defeat. The tone of his voice took on a desperate edge. “I'm going to be there when that door's opened! When we first look upon the halls of our fathers!”

Thorin's voice was gentle, and he placed a hand on the back of his beloved nephew's neck. “Stay here. Rest. Join us when you are healed.” Kili just stared at him reproachfully, not believing this was happening.

Óin heaved himself out of the boat, vaulting back onto the dock with surprising nimbleness for his age. “I will stay with the lad. My duty lies with the wounded.”

Moira actually felt sorry for Thorin as much as for Kili, a feeling she had not had when she had first seen the movie, so so long ago. But she was a different person now. She had lived so many lives, and had changed much as a result. She had lived through wars and all manner of calamities, had even commanded men in battle, and she knew that as much as it hurt, Thorin's decision was the tactically correct one.

Fili, already in the boat, had been watching the whole exchange. As soon as Thorin turned to him, he protested. “Uncle, we grew up on tales of the Mountain. Tales you told us! You cannot take that away from him!”

“Fili – ”

“I will carry him if I must!”

Thorin would not be swayed. “One day you will be King and you will understand. I cannot risk the fate of this quest for one Dwarf, not even my own kin.”

Thorin's sincere words did nothing to convince Fili. The love for his brother was too strong. His face hardened, and in one smooth move he had jumped out of the boat and was on the pier, pushing past Thorin. The older Dwarf grabbed the blonde prince's arm. “Fili, don't be a fool. You belong with the Company.”

“I belong with my brother.” He retorted, shaking off Thorin's hold. And that was that. Fili marched over to where Óin was attempting to examine a petulant Kili, who kept pushing the healer away. He actually looked like he was near tears. Moira locked eyes with Thorin, and the fierce blue orbs held an unspoken question. _Are you going with him or not?_ Moira wasn't sure now what she should do. She had pledged to see this quest through to it's end, and even if she knew she would be no help when Bilbo faced Smaug, Thorin didn't. Would he see her as faithless if she stayed? There was no hiding that she and Fili were together anymore, so that hardly mattered. Thorin scowled at her, she assumed for taking too long to answer. Which was actually helpful, because it made up her mind for her. He would probably be angry with her no matter what she chose, anyway.

“I'm staying with Fili.” Thorin's scowl deepened, and for some reason Moira felt the need to explain. “You don't need a Ranger inside the Mountain. I got you through the wild already, I've done my job.”

“Then go.” He growled and turned his back to her, and for a heartbeat Moira wondered if she should have said or done something different. But no, there was never really any other choice now. They weren't going to need her there, and she wasn't leaving Fili. Orcs were going to attack Laketown tonight, and then the Dragon would come. She could do more good here.

Moira didn't know that Thorin watched her back with something akin to appreciation. If his foolish nephew insisted on loving a human, at least he'd picked one who seemed loyal enough to stay by his side. _Even if he's wrong_. he thought darkly. _But a woman should always support her mate, at least in public_. Thorin visibly shook that thought away, scolding himself for it. The Ranger was NOT his nephew's mate. There was no way Mahal would make a human the One for a Prince of Durin's Line. He pushed the thought from his mind and turned back to loading the boats. He had a quest to complete and a homeland to reclaim, possibly even a dragon to slay. He had no time to worry about his nephew's romantic pursuits.

~000~

No sooner had a hungover Bofur joined them on the wharf then Kili began to collapse. Moira knew that the selfish, greedy Master of Laketown wasn't going to help them, but she didn't protest as they rushed back to the Large House. The sooner they got it out of the way, the better. The Master and Alfrid had just reached the steps when the desperate group came rushing up.

Fili called for them to stop. “Please, we need your help, my brother is sick.”

“Sick? Is it infectious?” the Master's tone was panicked, and as he drew further away he covered his mouth and nose with a dirty, crusty handkerchief. _That'll help_. Moira thought sarcastically as he commanded Alfrid to keep the “infected” away from him.

The gray-bearded healer stepped forward, pleading. “Please, we need medicine.”

“Do I look an apothecary?” Alfrid snapped, and rage built in Moira's chest at his indifference. “The Master is a busy man, he doesn't have time to worry about sick Dwarves.” Alfrid looked at her now, and there was an evil gleam in his eye. “Or their whores.”

Moira felt her hand curl into a fist, at the same time that Fili growled angrily behind her. She unconsciously took a step forward to do something that would certainly have gotten them all arrested, but thankfully Óin saw her intent. The old healer grabbed her by the wrist, shaking his head. When Moira looked back up to where Alfrid had stood just a moment before, he and the Master had already turned around and were scurrying up the stairs, the Master declaring loudly “What this town needs is a good purge!” _Coward_. Moira thought. _If only I had the time to kick your ass_.

There was only one other place they could possibly turn to for aid, even if he was not currently well-disposed towards them. Soon they were on Bard's doorstep again. As predicted, when he flung open the door, he was not happy to see them.

“No, I'm done with Dwarves.” His eyes flicked to Moira, and hardened. “And you're a liar. Go away.”

Moira plunged forward and held open the door. “Yes, I lied to you. I'm sorry. I was trying to protect my friends.” Bard looked unconvinced.

“Please!” Bofur begged. “No one will help us. Kili's sick. He's very sick.”

Bard turned to where Óin and Fili were holding the dark-haired prince between them, and there was indecision in his eyes. Kili had gotten exponentially worse in a short time. He was panting with the effort it took to breathe. He was now so pallid he looked like a ghost, the whiteness of his skin a stark contrast to his dark hair and stubble. He sagged between his brother and the healer, not having the power to hold himself up anymore.

Bard acquiesced. “Bring him inside. Quickly.” Apparently he had a soft spot for strays.

“Thank you.” Moira was genuinely relieved, and she was sure it showed on her face and in her voice. For a moment she had thought that Bard's confusing anger at her would lead him to turn them away. Bard nodded, a strange expression on his face, and held the door open for her.

Soon Kili was laid in a bed, where he was writhing in agony, his moans of pain having gotten louder. Fili clutched his hand tightly, hovering protectively. When Moira returned to the bedside with a small bowl of cold water and some scraps of cloth, Fili met her eyes, and the desperation in them broke her heart.

“I can't lose him.” he sounded strangled.

“You won't.” Moira knew he wouldn't believe her, but she had to reassure him anyway. “I promise, Fili, you won't.” Moira handed him a wet washcloth, and he drew it tenderly across his brother's forehead, whispering something to him in Khuzdul as he did so.

Bard was searching through his small cache of (mostly empty) glass jars filled with herbs, searching for the appropriate medicine to administer. Óin, unsatisfied with his selection, asked for kingsfoil, drawing a confused look from Bard.

“Kingsfoil? That's a weed, we feed it to the pigs.” he responded. Bofur rushed out, looking for pigs he could steal their meal from. That was when the rumbling started. The room shook, causing dust and debris to fall from the ceiling. And even though Moira had known it would be coming, _sweet Odin_ , it was terrifying. All movement in the room froze, as everyone looked at each other. They were all thinking one word: _Smaug_.

Sigrid called to her father for reassurance, but Bain stated what everyone was thinking, “That came from the Mountain.”

Fili jumped forward then, taking on the commanding tone of Erebor's Heir Apparent, as he addressed Bard. “You should leave us. Take your children, get out of here.”

“And go where?” The bargeman responded, despairingly. “There is nowhere to go.”

Bard's youngest was terrified. “Are we going to die, Da?”

Bard smiled comfortingly then, his fatherly instincts taking over. “No darling.” Moira knew that he was projecting a confidence he didn't feel. She had been a parent many times, and any parent would lie to protect their children from the horrible truth of life at times. You never show your uncertainty to a child during an emergency such as this.

But Tilda was not reassured. “But the dragon, it's going to kill us.”

Bard reached up into the rafters of the house and pulled down something that shocked everyone in the room (except Moira): A black arrow. Bard's lips were set into a line of grim determination. “Not if I kill it first.” Moira had to admit that he struck quite a heroic figure at that moment. Bain followed his father out the door and down into the town, but it wasn't long before he returned, reporting that Bard had been arrested. _Lovely_.

Sigrid was standing outside on the balcony when the Orcs came, literally dropping down from the sky (or more accurately, the rooftops) and then there was no more time to think. All there was now was survival and fighting. Fili threw himself at the Orc nearest to the human girl with no weapon but his hands, desperately holding it back as Sigrid and Tilda hid under the table. Moira ran to the kitchen. She had made a point to memorize where Sigrid had put the kitchen knives away. She pulled three of them out of the drawer, tossing one to Óin as she did so. The old Dwarf grabbed it in midair and stabbed the nearest Orc, first slashing at his thighs and then cutting his throat when he collapsed. When it fell he had the opportunity to take his sword. Crudely-made it may be, but it was better than any kitchen knife.

Moira brandished the two knives left as if they were her daggers, and rushed to where Fili was engaged in a barehanded wrestling match with one of the larger Orcs. She silently thanked Odin that she had received trousers from the Master and wasn't tripping on that horrible dress as she did so. The Orc saw her coming, but he was so busy with Fili had he couldn't mount a successful defense, and she cut him down easily. Foul-smelling black gore rained down on both her and Fili. There were _**so many**_ of the Orcs, and they had no real weapons. It wasn't looking good. Hela, the best Bain could seem to do was to throw _plates_ at the Orcs, but at least it was something.

Just then, Tauriel came rushing through the door, quickly dispatching three Orcs in a row. An Orc fell through the ceiling, with Legolas right behind him. The blonde Elf-Prince landed on the table in a crouch, his cat-like reflexes clearly still intact. Between the two Elves, the room was soon completely clear of Orcs.

“You killed them all.” Bain's voice held obvious awe. _Hey, pretty sure me and Óin took care of a few!_ Moira couldn't help but think, slightly miffed that Bain was giving all the credit to the Elves.

The Elf-Prince merely responded coolly “There are others.” as he moved to the door of the house. He never looked at the human children who had addressed him, his mind set only on hunting down the rest of the Orc pack. His tone was commanding as he called his companion to him. “Tauriel.”

But Tauriel was looking at Kili, laying on the ground, writhing and moaning in agony, seemingly unseeing to the world around him. Óin looked up at Fili, desperation and despair written all over his graying face. “We are losing him.” Legolas called Tauriel's name again, and then exited swiftly, not looking behind him this time. Looking regretful, Tauriel followed him the door, right as Bofur rushed in, a small, flowering, leafy green herb in his hands.

“Athelas!” Tauriel snatched the herb from his hands and clutched it as if it were a life-raft. Bofur, confused, stared at her open-mouthed for a few seconds, before managing to gasp out “What are you doing?” There were almost tears in the red-haired She-Elf's eyes as she answered him. “I'm going to save him.”

~000~

Tauriel was washing her hands, probably worn out from the effort of the magic she had just used to save Kili, who was delirious and more-or-less passed out on the table. Moira and Fili stood off to the side of the kitchen, Moira leaning on him for support. Óin soon came to join the couple. “I've heard tell of the wonders of Elvish medicine. That was a privilege to witness.”

Fili grunted noncommittally, keeping an eye on the She-Elf from across the room.

“Are you going to thank her?” Moira asked him. Fili gave her an incredulous look, as if the answer should be obvious.

“What?” Moira asked innocently. “She's not Thranduil. And she did just save your brother's life.”

Fili just scowled in response, and for a second, he looked like Thorin. Only blonder. “Well, if you're not, I'm going to.” Before he could protest, she pushed herself away from the counter and went to the She-Elf – no, Tauriel, Moira corrected herself. Her hazel eyes regarded her curiously, but guardedly, as she approached.

“Hey,” Moira said softly. “I just want to thank you.”

Tauriel looked surprised, but Moira continued. “Kili isn't just my friend. He's Fili's brother and they mean the world to each other. I don't even want to even think about what it would have done to Fili if we lost him.”

Tauriel's face softened, and she smiled gently. She really was beautiful when she smiled. “You love him very much.”

Moira nodded. “I do.”

“I am glad to help.” Tauriel said. “It is the least I could do, after ...” she didn't need to finish her sentence. They both know what she was referring to. Both women looked to the other side of the room now, where the two Dwarves were watching their interaction carefully.

“He's still mad about what happened.” Moira said.

Tauriel nodded. “He has every right to be. I cannot ask for forgiveness for my part in it.”

“Well, you should know, _**I**_ don't blame you.”

Tauriel looked shocked for a moment, before she lowered her eyes, avoiding Moira's gaze. The redhead murmured what Moira thought was a thank-you, or maybe another apology. But she just nodded and returned to Fili, who wrapped an arm protectively around her.

~000~

_Four Dwarves, three human children, a Ranger, and an Elf are all packed into one small boat. Sounds like the start of a very bad joke_. Moira thought to herself as Tauriel steered their little craft through the suddenly crowded Lake, as the inhabitants of Laketown all attempted to evacuate. But it was no joke. Their rag-tag little group was trying desperately to escape the Dragon that flew and swooped and dive-bombed the little town, bellowing out threats in Benedict Cumberbatch's voice. _I'll never be able to watch Sherlock again without having a panic attack_. Moira found herself thinking.

“Look out!” bellowed Bain. Their boat actually ran up against the massive barge that Master was on, laden down with gold, and they were nearly capsized by it. After the Master's boat powered past them, they heard Alfrid comment that they were still too heavy and would need to lose some weight. Predictably, it was Alfrid that the Master threw overboard. Unfortunately for them.

As the nearest boat in sight, it was to them that Alfrid paddled desperately. He gripped the edge, trying to climb in, and nearly upset the the vessel again. Most of the craft's occupants flung themselves to the other side, attempting to balance the weight. “You have to help me!” he shrieked, clinging onto the side of their boat. Moira finally got to vent her anger at him, landing a hard punch on his nose. Alfrid shrieked again but didn't let go, so she hit again, and again. On the third punch she felt rather than heard a sickening _crunch_ , and he finally released his hold on them. “You can't!” He howled angrily as he bobbed in the water, holding his bloody and probably broken nose. “You wouldn't!”

“Oh yes I would.” Moira hissed back. “I'm just a Dwarf's whore, remember? I'm no hero.” _I hope you drown_ , she almost added, but thought better of it when she saw the look on the faces of some the others in the boat. Thankfully there was soon a distraction.

Bard's only son let out a shout. “Da!” Everyone in the little watercraft turned and looked where Bain's gaze was focused. Illuminated by the fire of the town burning all around him, the outline of Bard fitting his arrow to the bow and taking aim was plain. He stood in the tallest tower of Esgaroth, and his bell-tower was aflame, like the rest of the little town on the lake. He was in danger of it collapsing around him, but he was ignoring his own peril in order to focus on firing at the massive dragon that was swooping down for another fire attack.

“He hit it!” Kili bellowed joyfully. “He hit the dragon!

Tauriel let out a little gasp of disbelief. “That's not possible ...”

Kili was more boisterous than usual (understandably, considering their circumstances). “He did!” he practically crowed. “Bard hit his mark, I saw!”

“It does not matter.” Tauriel's face was grim. “His arrows cannot pierce it's hide. I fear nothing will.”

 _SHIT!_ Moira had completely forgotten about that. Then she saw the look on Bain's face, and she remembered that he had chased back after his father. She grabbed his arm. No way she was letting a kid do this. This wasn't a movie anymore, this was real life. Her life. And Moira would not allow a _child_ to face such terrible danger on her behalf. Not happening.

“Bain, where is it?” the boy looked at her with wide, confused eyes.“The black arrow! He would have told you to hide it, before the guards came!”

“How did you – “

She shook him a little. “Not important right now! Where is it? I'll take it to him, I promise!”

He told her. She nodded, and before she could change her mind, Moira leapt into the cold water. After the heat of the fires raging around them, it actually felt amazing. She heard Fili scream her name, but regretfully, she ignored it as she swam towards the nearest wharf. When she climbed up onto it, she crouched, staying low in hopes of avoiding Smaug's gaze. She spared one look back and her eyes locked with Fili's. He was clearly panicked, and looked almost ready to jump into the water and follow her.

“We cannot go back.” She could hear Tauriel saying.

“Go!” Moira yelled to Fili. “I'll be fine, I'll catch up!” Not waiting for a response, she turned and ran into the inferno that Laketown had become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I went full evil-author and left it on a cliffhanger. Sorry, not sorry! And maybe leaving Alfrid to drown isn't particularly heroic, but I enjoy writing her as being just a little bit morally ambiguous. That's what happens when the very first world she ended up in was Westeros.


	22. Dragonfire and Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira has done many things in her crazy life (lives?). But she has never faced a dragon. First time for everything.

_back on the quest, as Smaug attacks....._

The world was on fire. The wooden structures of Laketown seethed and crackled and burned, many of them collapsing in on themselves, sending glowing sparks into the dark sky like so many fireflies. Their demise lit up the night, blindingly bright. Moira ran through it all, searching for the spot where Bain said he had hidden the black arrow from the Guardsmen. Everywhere around her the inferno raged, the heat scorching her skin, the ash filling the air stinging her eyes and her lungs, drawing tears from her eyes and making her breaths ragged. Her clothes would probably be singed or even aflame if they hadn't been soaked from diving into the water. Already Moira could feel them beginning to dry from the intensity of the heat. She could almost believe that Ragnarok had come if she didn't know better, that it was Surt the king of the Fire-Giants burning Esgaroth around her and not Smaug the dragon.

A massive shadow passed over her, and once again Moira darted closer to a wall (one of the few not aflame), pressing herself to it. Until she found the black arrow and made it to Bard, she wanted to make sure that the dragon didn't see her. Her breath caught in her throat as she caught her first clear, unobstructed view of Smaug as he soared through the night sky. She struggled to control her panic. Moira had never faced a dragon before. Yes, they had existed in Westeros (well, Essos, but close enough), but she had never seen them. The gars in D'Hara and the Midlands could be said to be dragon-like, but they were only slighter larger than the size of a horse, and they didn't breathre fire. Smaug, however, was the archetypal dragon, and he was _unbelievably huge_ , simply immense in size. If it were daytime, his wings alone would block out the sun.

“FLEE! FLEE!” the deep, booming voice of Smaug came from above, raining terror down on the running humans along with fire and death. “Run for your lives, little Lakemen. There is nowhere you can hide from the fire!” Moira heard a loud intake of breath that had felt like it actually made the air around her momentarily thinner and, looking up, realized that Smaug was preparing another volley of flame. His chest glowed for just a few moments before he released his fire, a telltale sign that might be the only advantage that the smaller creatures had when fighting such a ridiculously overpowered opponent. Seeing the warning now as he swept lower, Moira pressed herself harder to the wall, turning her head towards the wood, and as predicted, a torrent of flame rushed past her, far too close for comfort. Moira squeezed her eyes shut against the blinding flash of light, but she couldn't block out the unbearable heat or the smell of burning tar, hair and flesh that assaulted her nose. He had killed somebody, then. The smell of burnt meat was unmistakable. She prayed it wasn't Bard.

“Your world will burn!” Smaug ascended into the skies again, spinning and twisting in a beautiful and deadly dance in the sky. Moira searched around her. There it was. The statue of the Master. A small rowboat tied to the pier in front of it. Casting her eyes skyward one last time, she ran to it, head down. The bottom of the rowboat was filled with thick heavy rope, and when she pushed it aside, she found the precious treasure she was looking for. The black arrow, right where Bain had said it would be. She looked skyward again, making sure that Smaug wasn't within sight, before she pulled it out and raced across the pier to the other cluster of buildings, ducking under a overhang to assess the situation, searching for the quickest and safest way to the bell-tower. Seeing that Smaug was still dancing across the sky, enjoying himself far too much, she decided on the direct approach. Just as she got to the tower, Smaug descended again, and as she raced up the stairs, Moira heard him taunting Bard.

“What will you do now, bowman? Your arrows are depleted. You are forsaken. No help will come.”

When she reached the top of the stairs, just before the hole in the floor of the top of the tower, she paused for a second. Heart beating wildly, she took a deep breath. This was it. She poked her head up through the trap-door, eyes scanning quickly around.

“Moira!” Bard was laying on his back, having been knocked over or having dived to avoid a fire volley. She didn't know which. He looked confused. “What are you doing here?” Horror dawned on his face. “My children ….”

“They're fine. Fili and the others got them out.”

Bard nodded, his relief obvious. Not seeing Smaug, Moira carefully climbed out, black arrow clutched in one hand. The fire was everywhere and she could feel the structure weakening. The tower swayed. They needed to get this done fast. Bard had definitely looked better. His face was covered in soot and sweat and his dark hair stuck to his flushed skin. His onyx eyes were panicked and his lips chapped, his clothes singed and smoking. Moira could only assume she was in a similar state, with the addition of black Orc blood across her face and blouse.

“I bought you something you're gonna need.”

“And who is this that comes to die with the bowman? A little lost dove?”

Moira froze, eyes widening at Smaug's choice of words. She turned slowly, the black arrow hidden behind her back, so that Bard could see it but Smaug could not. Smaug was some distance away, perched on the rooftops of the little town, and still his massive size made him loom over them. His large yellow, reptilian eyes glowed even brighter than the fire all around him. The dragon's humongous scaly snout curled into what looked like half a smirk and half a snarl, which plainly communicated that he had noticed her distress, and delighted in it.

“A dove covered in the scent of Dwarf. How disgusting.” Smaug's monumental frame actually seemed to shudder in revulsion as he crawled over the burning rooftops of Laketown, coming closer to where Bard and Moira were perched amid the flames. Moira felt Bard gently and carefully take the arrow from her hands. The bargeman leaned in close, whispering quietly into her ear “Keep him talking.” Moira nodded, but her mind was frozen, transfixed by the paralyzing stare of the inhumanly intelligent dragon before her.

“Do you think he loves you?” the dragon continued to boom. “Do you think your golden prince will not abandon you? You will lose him, as you have lost everyone and everything you've ever treasured.”

Behind her, Moira could hear Bard carefully fitting the black arrow to the bow, using her body to shield his action as Smaug's yellow eyes were still focused intently on her. Remembering that she was supposed to keep him distracted, she found her voice. “What would you know of love?” She yelled defiantly. “Or of loss? All you love is useless gold!”

Smaug's tongue darted out between his massive, sword-like teeth, as if he was longing to eat her. He could swallow her in one gulp, she knew, and involuntarily shuddered at the thought. He noticed. The massive red dragon made a sound like a chuckle, and it was deeply disturbing.

“I know enough. Love will mean nothing in the end. It will all turn to ash. A shadow is growing, a darkness that will swallow the dawn. He still hunts you. You can _never_ escape him.”

“You're lying.” Moira's voice was a shaky whisper at first, before raising suddenly in power. “YOU'RE LYING! HE'S DEAD. YOU'RE LYING!!!” She bellowed, fury and fear warring in her breast.

Smaug actually laughed, a deep, throaty sound that rumbled loud enough to shake the precarious foundation beneath the two humans' feet. “Even if you somehow managed to kill me, even if you escape the fire, the darkness will come for you, _little dove_. Fire or shadow, it makes no difference. Death and pain will follow you forever. You are a curse upon those you love. And _he_ will have you again.”

Smaug was so focused on her, so enjoying her the delicious smell of her fear, that he failed to pay attention to Bard. And like so many monologing villains, it was his long-winded speech that was his downfall. Smaug reared up, wings spread wide, preparing to roar a deadly gust of dragonfire at the two of them. She saw it then, the missing scale under the wing on the left side, and was very, very glad that she wasn't the one that had to try to hit the tiny target.

At just that moment, Bard sprang forward, and in perfect synchronicity Moira threw herself to the side, out of his way. Wordlessly, his face set in grim determination, Bard released the black arrow from his bow. It sang through the air, hitting its mark with a wet-sounding thud. The shriek that was ripped from the dragon's throat was almost pitiful. Almost. Smaug fell from the sky, roaring his rage, trying vainly to claw his way back up, although it was only empty air he clawed at. Moira watched him fall, entranced, and it wasn't until Bard grabbed her by the waist and flung the both of them off of the tower and into the water below that she realized Smaug was plummeting straight towards them.

Bard's hands on her waist released just before they hit the water, and the force of the impact opened her mouth against her will, her body attempting to suck in a breath of air and being rewarded only with water rushing into her lungs. Moira's head spun from the suddenness of their descent, and she was floating, drifting, water all around her, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't tell which way was up or down, she was _so tired_ , she couldn't struggle anymore, and her last thought was that it was horribly ironic that she had survived dragonfire just to drown, just to die from water …

Strong hands pulled her from the water, laying her out on what felt like solid ground, but her eyes were unfocused, the world fading in and out of blackness..... She felt lips on hers …. Someone was kissing her ... now they drew back and were pounding on her chest. She coughed violently, and was gently turned to the side. Later she would swear that she spit up the entire Long Lake from her lungs. A hand was on her back, rubbing gently, as she coughed and spit and sputtered, and the sensation felt familiar, except … except it wasn't radiating heat like Fili did. Who was touching her?

“There, there, you're okay, just breathe,” Bard's voice. _Bard_. Her mind whirled, confused, as she tried to put to together what had happened, as she continued to sputter and cough. Had he kissed her? No, no, that wasn't it. He had given her CPR. She hadn't known that CPR even existed in Middle-Earth, but if anyone would know it, it would be Bard. Her mind finally clearing, she struggled to sit up. They were on a wharf in Laketown still, on the other side from the bell-tower, she noticed. _How far did he drag me through the water?_ Laketown was still on fire. Realizing that, her practicality came back to her. Bard was crouching next to her, and she met his worried eyes.

“We have to get out of here.” She managed, still coughing a little.

He nodded. “Can you stand?” he asked her.

“I think so.” Moira swayed a little as she stood, and considering the circumstances, she accepted Bard's arm to lean on as they searched for a way out. By now most of the boats that were not riddled with holes were gone from Esgaroth, as it's citizens had fled in a panic. Finally they found one that would stay afloat, although it had no oars. But beggars can't be choosers, and so they were soon drifting away from the burning town slowly, using their hands and pieces of debris to maneuver in the dark. Bard's face was grimmer than usual, and Moira realized that he had probably never lived anywhere else. He had just lost _everything_ , his home, everything familiar to him, family heirlooms, maybe sketches or paintings of his deceased wife, certainly all his belongings. All he had left were the clothes on his back. And his children. _Please, Frigg, don't let that part of the story change_. She silently prayed to Odin's wife and the protector of families and children.

“I'm sorry.” Bard looked at her then, and something she couldn't name flashed in his eyes, before he set the grim mask back into place. “Thank you,” he mumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. Moira didn't need to ask what he was thinking about. He was thinking of his children.

Moira hadn't realized how late in the night it was until she saw the first pinks and yellows of dawn over the distant horizon. As Sunna rose higher in the sky, she illuminated for the first time the destruction that had been wrought the night before, it also made clear which part of the shore they should be heading for. When they found a few (slightly burnt) oars floating in the water, it made maneuvering their little rowboat easier. Moira tried to help with the rowing, but Bard wouldn't let her. He said she had done enough for the night. She _hated_ sitting still and letting Bard do all the work. When she had gone west to raid with the Vikings, she had been expected to pull her weight on the longship just as much as any of the men, and that included rowing when there was no wind. A woman in a Viking war band was treated the same as any of the men, except perhaps in the night. While she wasn't the strongest swimmer, Moira knew ships. So she sat glumly across from Bard, studiously avoiding his eyes as the boat glided across the debris-filled water. If she had been rowing, the action would have given her something to concentrate on besides her dark thoughts, something to distract her from Smaug's ominous words.

“Are you alright?” Bard finally broke the silence, and his voice was practically _dripping_ with concern. Moira didn't like it. At all. She didn't like being this weak in front of Fili, for Odin's sake; there was no way she wanted _Bard_ to see her like this.

“I'm fine.” She bit out. But she knew that her face was pale and her hands were in shaking fists. She knew that Bard would not believe her.

“Are you sure?” Moira could tell that Bard was carefully keeping his voice gentle. “What the dragon said – ”

Moira's eyes were unfocused, and she didn't look at Bard as she cut him off. She studied his coat instead. “Dragons are demons. Demons lie.” Her palms were sweating and it took effort to keep her breathing from speeding up as she remembered Smaug's words. Her voice got quieter, less certain. “I didn't know they were telepathic.” After a moment she continued, forcing a note of strength and confidence back into her tone as she did so. “He looked into my mind, he saw my past, and he come up with a lie to distract me. They're clever. That's all it was: a lie.”

Bard was watching her carefully. He looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. “If you say so.”

They fell silent for a long time. As they approached the shore, Moira spoke up, looking Bard in the eyes. She calmed her voice, despite the fear in her stomach, and worked to project sincerity. “I'd prefer it if you didn't tell Fili what Smaug said.”

The corners of Bard's lips quirked into a minute frown. “He should know.”

“It doesn't matter.” Moira hated having to convince someone she'd known for less than 24 hours to keep a secret from the man (well, Dwarf) that she loved, but that was the craziness of her life. “The … person ... that Smaug was talking about, he's dead. I watched him die. It was a lie.”

It had to be a lie. Even if Rahl _was_ alive, he couldn't get to her now. Not across universes. Right? Right.

“Please, Bard.”

The bargeman grunted. “It's your business, not mine.” Relief flooded through her. But Bard wasn't done. “But if it's affecting you this much, you should still tell him. Whatever it is, if he loves you, he'll understand.”

Moira sighed and dropped her eyes again, focusing on her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Maybe I will one day. But not today. I've had enough for today.”

That seemed to be enough for him. Bard nodded curtly, falling silent again, the only sound between the them the slap of the oats hitting the water. Soon they drew close to the shore where the survivors of Laketown were gathered, and Moira was out of the rowboat before Bard could tell her it was safe to do so. She heard him sputtering a little behind her, but she ignored him and plunged ahead through the water. It came up to her thighs, soaking her boots and trousers, but she payed it no mind. She had to find Fili.

Bard had pulled the rowboat up a little bit away from the worst of the mass of ruined humanity, so the section of beach that Moira was soon climbing up onto was not as crowded.

“Fili!” She yelled at the top of her lungs as she looked around. The beach was a cacophony of sound, as the many of the survivors of Smaug's attack was doing the same thing she was, yelling the names of their loved ones as they searched among the wreckage. Others held lifeless bodies and sobbed. Some sat on the beach and stared into nothing, too shell-shocked to register what was happening. Moira was certain that her Dwarves had made it, but seeing the destruction and misery all around her made her start to doubt. What if Fili had done something stupid? What if he had turned the boat around to come after her? Surely he wouldn't have taken that risk, not with Bard's children to look after.... Fear rising in her heart, she began to push her way through the crowd, yelling for her friends.

“Kili! Fili! Bofur! Óin! _FILI!_ ” Vaguely she heard Bard behind her, doing the same, bellowing the names of his children. Off to her side she caught a flash of gold, and when she turned, she saw Fili barreling through the crowd. “Moira!” his voice was so full of joy, and his hair was loose, having come halfway out of the braid she had given him, his hair now only bound to the top of his head in a loose ponytail, and it flew behind him as he rushed to her. Forgetting dignity completely, Moira ran to meet him. They crashed together in a desperate, needy kiss, all teeth and tongue, their hands clutching each other, not caring who saw, and oh thank Odin he was alive and she was alive and they were here together. All the dark, fearful thoughts that Smaug had invoked so easily melted away in the heat and intensity of Fili's touch, and she was safe, she was sure of it. Vaguely Moira was aware of Bard standing awkwardly beside them, probably waiting to ask Fili about his children, but she didn't care. Finally they broke apart for air.

Reassured now that she was alive, Fili's relief turned to anger. “You beautiful, brave, _stupid_ woman! Don't you ever do anything like that again!!”

Her hands were draped around his neck, and she played with a lock of his beautiful golden hair, twirling it between her thumb and forefinger. She smirked. “I'm a Viking shieldmaiden. No man commands me.” She couldn't promise Fili that she wouldn't take any more risks. The battle would be coming soon, and Azog, and she was determined to save him, even if the price was her own her life. Even more troubling, it was getting harder and harder to intentionally lie to him. Considering she could never tell him the full truth about herself, that was dangerous. She pushed the thought away.

“I'm not a Man. I'm a Dwarf.” He retorted, staring up at her with a hard expression, although his blue eyes sparkled, and Moira raised an eyebrow at him. Before she could respond, Bard coughed beside her, and she flushed. She had forgotten he was there. From the way Fili's hands suddenly tightened around her waist, so had he.

Bard looked apologetic about interrupting their moment. He cleared his throat. “Master Dwarf,” he addressed Fili so formally and stiffly, it sounded strange to Moira's ears. “Are my children ….?” his question drifted off as his throat closed up in fear of the answer.

They're alive.” Fili reassured him. “They're fine, all of them.”

“DA!” Bain's voice cut the conversation off and made it irrelevant. Behind him were his sisters, and soon Bard was wrapped in a group hug as all three of his children swarmed him in relief, clutching him tight and babbling questions.

“Did you kill it Da?” Bain was asking. “I thought I saw the dragon fall, but we were so far away, and they wouldn't let me go back to you.”

“Good!” Bard ruffled his son's hair. “You're far too young to face a dragon. But you did well, hiding the arrow, son.” Bain beamed at his father's praise. Bard turned to Fili now, whose arms were still encircling Moira's waist.

“I couldn't have done it without Moira. Your lady is very brave.”

“Stupidly brave, I know.” He looked up at her with an almost adoring expression. “I'm very lucky.”

“And don't you forget it.” Moira tapped the tip of Fili's nose with her forefinger, a teasing tone to her voice. “Or I might trade you in for a younger model.”

“If you mean my brother, you might find that difficult.” Suddenly the mirth was gone from his eyes, replaced with … worry? “I think he's a bit taken with the Elf that healed him. An _Elf_ , of all things!”

As if on cue, Kili, Óin, and Tauriel appeared, the crowd parting easily for the Elf-maiden. Even in the midst of a disaster like this, Manfolk had an almost instinctual admiration of Elves that bordered on worshipful reverence. And Fili was right, Kili hovered just a little too close to the red-haired wood-Elf as she approached.

“Moira,” she called, “I feared you would not survive the dragon. I am gratified to see that I was wrong.”

Moira frowned slightly. She didn't remember telling Tauriel her name. Kili must have. She disentangled herself from Fili's grasp, ignoring his scowl at the Elf, and turned to face her, trying to smile. “For a while there, I wasn't entirely sure that I'd survive, either.”

“We're very glad you did, lassie,” It was Óin who spoke this time, holding his odd metal ear trumpet to one ear so that he could hear and understand the conversations happening around him.

“Yeah, really.” Kili punched her playfully in the shoulder. “Fili's been a _mess_ all night, I'd hate to have to deal with that forever.”

“No, I haven't,” Fili protested halfheartedly, trying to save face in front of her, and Moira smiled.

“I have something for you, Moira.” She was surprised when Tauriel addressed her again. “I meant to give them back to you last night, but we were … distracted.” From the quiver at her waist, Tauriel pulled two daggers that had been hidden amid the arrows. “I apologize that I could not retrieve your sword, or the weapons of the rest of your companions. I left King Thranduil's halls in great haste.” Tauriel held the daggers out to her, hilts first.

The daggers were beautiful, strong and intricately carved. They had been a gift from Faron. After he had killed a troll in the mountains, he had searched for the troll-hoard. When he found it, he had distributed the weapons among the Rangers, and given most of the gold to local needy families and villages. The Elvish-forged weapons had gone to the Dunedain Rangers. She supposed they felt it was their birthright by way of their Númenórean blood, but Moira didn't mind. These daggers, although made by smiths of Men, were of excellent quality and had served her well. Tauriel was really trying to make amends with her.

“Thank you.” She said sincerely, truly grateful to have them back. She slid them each into the front pockets of her trousers. She had no sword-belt, that having also been confiscated in Mirkwood. Hopefully there would be something appropriate she could use in the armory in Erebor. Tauriel nodded her acknowledgment.

Moira stiffened when she heard Alfrid's nasally voice, twisted in rage and demanding blankets from somebody. _Sansa was right_ , she thought to herself. “The worst ones always survive.” She muttered aloud. From the corner of her eye, Moira saw Bard frown, his eyes straying to the situation that her comment alerted him to, and he went to deal with it, his children following him.

“Come on, this is our chance.” At Fili's questioning gaze, she clarified. “To slip off without being noticed. You don't think they'll be happy with us for going to Erebor now, after everything?”

Fili's expression was suddenly grave as he nodded. “Óin, gather what supplies survived. Moira and I will prepare the boat.” Almost as an afterthought, he added "And find Bofur." 

As his brother and his human Ranger went to prepare the boat and Óin to gather Bofur and what was left of their belongings, Kili approached the beautiful Elf who had saved his life. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable with the prospect of being alone with him. _Afraid of your feelings for me?_ He thought with amusement. He had seen a spark in her eye that made him sure she felt the same way he did.

“Tauriel,” He addressed her, reverence in his voice.

“Kili, come on, we're leaving.” Leave it to his brother to call him right as he was about to profess his feelings.

Tauriel looked sad, he was certain of it. But she spoke of duty, for it was the language she knew best. “They are your people. You must go.”

Kili followed her when she moved to walk away. “Come with us. I know how I feel, I'm not afraid. You make me feel alive.”

Tauriel looked like she was actually considering it, so many emotions warring on her face. She did not hide her feelings as well as most Elves did. She hesitated for a moment, before she finally started to turn away. “I can't.”

Kili gently grabbed her hands this time, and he said the words that a Dwarf would say to one person and one person only. “Tauriel, amrâlimê.” It might have taken his brother months to realize that he loved his little human Ranger, but Kili was not his brother, and he already knew that he loved Tauriel and would never love anyone else.

A flush rose on his Elf-maid's face, which made her all the more lovely, and she looked shocked, as if Tauriel grasped the intent behind the Khuzdul word, if not the literal meaning. Quickly, she tried to cover her mistake, sliding the mask of indifference over her face that so many Elves wore effortlessly, but that had never seemed to suit her. She started to turn away, saying as she did so, “I don't know what that means.”

Kili pulled her back to face him, and he smiled his patented, wide smile that had charmed so many lasses before. “I think you do.”

Hesitantly, Tauriel reached out and caressed his face. Her hazel eyes were brimming with affection, and for a moment, Kili was sure that she was going to say yes, or perhaps kiss him. He would have been fine with either reaction. But suddenly she pulled her hand away, her posture stiffened, and she addressed the Elf standing behind her. Kili didn't understand what she said, as she spoke in her flowery native tongue, but her entire attitude changed. She was not his Tauriel anymore. Kili's eyes hardened as he took in the blonde Elf-prince that was clearly his rival for Tauriel's affections. Legolas – Kili thought that was his name – said something back to Tauriel in Elvish. When she looked back to him, he saw the regret in her hazel eyes, and knew that she would go with her Lord.

Sadly, Kili bowed his head slightly in respect and began to back away. But when he turned, he found that he couldn't leave Tauriel like that. That couldn't be how they parted. Suddenly, on a whim, he turned around, pulling something precious from his pocket as he did so. When he reached out his hand, her long slim fingers silently met his, questioning. He placed the runestone his mother had given him in his One's palm. He closed her fingers around it, clasping his hands around hers, and looked up at her adoringly. “Keep it, as a promise.” Tauriel smiled at him, a beautiful smile that held nothing back, and Kili knew then that she did share his feelings for her, it was merely their people's hatred for each other that kept them apart. He fairly swaggered back to the boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we are officially past the Desolation of Smaug and into the third movie! As always, if you are enjoying the ride, please review/comment!


	23. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road to Rivendell, new enemies reveal themselves .... and a possible ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst Ahoy! In this chapter. And ugh, I feel like the action/fight scene is terrible, so I apologize if it sucks. Describing battles is something I'm still getting the hang of. And this is officially the last chapter that was already up on ff.net, so now they will be published as I write them.

After the failed attempt to break Moira's connection to Rahl, the party had rested in the woods for half a day before setting off. They would not get a full day of traveling in, but Moira was insistent that half a day was better than nothing. Fili would have preferred to give her longer to rest, and Tauriel too, but both Moira and Tauriel had both insisted that it was vital they get to Rivendell as soon as possible. When the Elf had joined in, Fili knew it was more than just Moira's tendency to push her own needs aside in favor of others or of whatever mission she had dedicated herself too.

They traveled without event for several more days, but when they reached Bree-land they found themselves confronted by a dilemma Fili had not anticipated when he set out from Erebor. Two Dwarves travelling in the company of a wood-Elf was strange enough, and the three of them had garnered much attention on their journey west. Now, with Moira and Bilbo in their party, they represented each of the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth! They would surely be noticed. The thought had not bothered him before he had arrived at Bag End, since Fili had merely been trying to win back the woman he loved, but now … now the need for secrecy was paramount, if at all possible.

They needed to pick up a few more supplies in Bree, but they couldn't all go. Moira, being a well-known Ranger, would be a reasonable choice to enter the city. Fili wanted to go with her, but she was adamant that having Bilbo in her company would raise less questions than being seen with a Dwarf. Moira was known to sometimes be hired as a guard by parties of Hobbits going to Bree for trade. So for the Bree-Folk to see her in town, her hand on the pommel of her sword as her wary eyes scanned the crowds, while Bilbo shopped, would be almost beneath notice. So it was with much regret that Fili let Moira and Bilbo enter Bree by themselves, while he, his brother and Tauriel waited nearby in the woods. To his relief, the trip into Bree went without incident and they returned before dark with the much-needed supplies, and they camped there for another night.

After passing Bree, Moira led them away from the road, through the wilds of Eriador on paths that only a Ranger would know. Several times she led them to caves where the Rangers had previously held camp, and they found small caches of already chopped firewood and dried and preserved foodstuffs. At first Bilbo protested using these supplies, but Moira assured the Hobbit that this was what they were there for. They replenished the firewood before leaving, but of course could not replace the food that they ate. Moira said that a Ranger assigned to the task would be by to check on each supply depot every month or so, and resupply them as needed.

Nearly two weeks went by like this, and every night Fili and Moira nestled together in a shared bedroll. Sometimes the dreams came, and Moira’s screams awoke everyone in camp. Sometimes her tossing and moans of distress were noticeable only to Fili. Sometimes she slept peacefully, although those nights seemed to become rarer and rarer as the journey wore on. In the morning, she would rarely speak of her dreams.

Fili didn't press her, but he knew that she dreamed of more than Rahl. She cried out in those strange languages, several of them as far as he could tell, as well as in Westron. She cried out names. He recognized “Cara” and “Jaime”, and the names of her Viking family – her husband, her children, her adopted mother. Those names were the ones she repeated the most, but there were others, too, ones he didn't know. Through her babbling he had learned that she had more children than she had told him of, presumably in other worlds than the Viking one, when she had screamed “Avila” and threatened to kill someone for touching her daughter. On one particularly bad night, she had grabbed the front of his tunic, eyes open wide but clearly unseeing, and tearfully accused him of being a kinslayer, before she slumped back into the pillow of the bedroll, breathing heavily. Fili knew that whoever she was speaking to, it wasn't him. One day he would ask her about it, he swore to himself. He would learn all her stories, good and bad. No matter how dark. But not now. The dreams were torment enough for her, and he was not going to make her relive that anguish in the daylight hours.

Whatever happened, Moira was clearly comforted by his touch, and Fili was more than happy to give it. He had fallen easily back into most of the actions of couple-hood, wrapping an arm around her while they sat beside each other, kissing her in greeting, stroking her hair absentmindedly when she laid her head on his shoulder, gathering her body to him as she slept. All the little physical contacts that couples exchanged to show each other they cared about one another.

All but one. And arguably, a very important one. Fili longed to be with her again, to bury all his fears for the future in her skin, to forget what was hunting them in the heat of her embrace. He wanted to taste her again, to hear her throaty gasp as she moaned his name and her fingers twined themselves in his hair, to feel her strong, slim body writhe beneath him as he took her and made her truly his again. But as much as he desired to lay with her, he feared do so just as strongly.

Fili hadn't realized it until the night at Brandy Hall, after Bilbo's Brandybuck cousin has signed the contract saying he'd look after Bag End until Bilbo returned to the Shire. Bilbo's cousins had apparently seen this as an excuse to throw a party. As Bilbo and Moira had explained to him, Hobbits needed very little excuse to celebrate. Despite the festivities, Moira had retired to their room early, touching his hand gently and giving him a long and significant look before doing so. And suddenly Fili had realized that he was terrified to lay with her again, a feeling that he had absolutely no idea what to do with.

The revelations about Moira's past had shaken up his world in more ways than one. He didn't blame her for what had happened to her, not at all, but this new knowledge made him worry. What if he lost control of his strength and hurt her? He had never worried about that before, but Dwarves were so much stronger than humans, and in light of the terrible things that had already been done to her … he couldn't stand it he ended up adding to her pain. It was bad enough that he had made his One cry, but the day they had set out from Bag End, a ring of deep purple bruises had bloomed around her wrist where he had grabbed her when she had first attempted to cut Rahl's mark from her skin. Moira had assured him that she was fine, that they didn't hurt, and that Rahl was really to blame anyway. That all may have been true, but to see the bruises on her arm and know that he had put them there filled him with guilt, regret and pain. The patch on her forearm where her skin was now missing was clearly in worse shape, but that was different. Knowing it had been necessary to protect her from Rahl, at least temporarily, was comforting, even if he wasn't happy about having to flay it off of her.

What if, Mahal forbid, he accidentally did something that reminded Moira of Rahl? Fili involuntarily shuddered at the thought. The logical part of his mind told himself that if that had been a problem, their relationship never would have progressed as far as it had in the first place. And it wasn't like they had never had rough sex, in fact they had. Not only had she specifically initiated it at times, but she had seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed it. Still. Fili was still finding his footing with this new knowledge. To Moira, this was ancient history. To Fili, it was almost as if it had just happened. He didn't want what he knew about her past to change how he felt about her, and he knew that she would hate it, too. But knowing that she had been raped – at least, he was pretty sure that the torture she spoke of contained a sexual element –  still made Fili apprehensive of laying with her again.

So that night at Brandy Hall he had deliberately sabotaged himself, drinking gallons of ale, enough even to alarm Kili if his brother had been paying attention. He had stumbled back to the room he'd be sharing with Moira knowing that he would be unable to do anything more than pass out. It had been selfish and cowardly, he knew. But he wasn't ready for the conversation that would be inevitable. She was too perceptive and too blunt, and he could imagine her demanding to know why he was treating her like she was made of glass. Mahal help him, Fili just wasn't ready for that. Thankfully traveling in the wild with 3 other people gave them little time for privacy, so the issue was not likely to come to the forefront just yet.

“We're here. Weathertop.” Moira's voice pulled him from his dark thoughts. She was riding her brown mare ahead of him. Tauriel was riding her horse beside her. After the experience that they had shared trying to break the magical bond, Moira and Tauriel had grown closer. Sometimes Fili saw them sitting closely and whispering to each other, but they would stop when he or Kili came near. He didn't like it. He suspected that they were keeping something about the experience from them. Moira had told him they both had been in Rahl's mind, had seen through his eyes as he had seen through hers in the Shire. But she had not given up any details. Fili burned with curiosity, but he didn't want to push her too much. Every day she seemed to be getting more mentally fragile.

“The watchtower of Amon Sûl.” The Elf-maid said. The massive, ruined stone structure that topped the hill loomed above the surrounding area, rising a thousand feet above the mostly level lands around it.

“Yes.” Moira's voice was heavy with an emotion he couldn't name. “We're halfway to Rivendell now. We'll camp here tonight.”

His brother pulled up beside him, Bilbo sitting in front of Kili on the saddle. The Hobbit did not have his own pony, and so he took turns riding with the others. Although he mostly stuck to riding with Kili and Fili, since he clearly found the Dwarves' ponies less intimidating than the much larger horses that Tauriel and Moira rode.

“Is she okay, Fee?” Kili whispered to him.

“No.” Fili responded simply. There was no point in lying. “The dreams are taking a heavy toll on her.”

Bilbo looked up. “Perhaps if she told us about them ….”

Fili shook his head. “I'm not going ask her to relieve it. Besides, I don't think these dreams are just regular nightmares.”

“What do you mean?” Kili whispered. Fili sighed. He loved him, but his brother could be dense sometimes.

Bilbo sighed quietly, watching the two women on horses ahead of them. “He thinks that Rahl's doing it to her.”

~0~0~0~

They camped on the north side, under the shadow of the tower. Moira drew Tauriel off to the side, whispering again, and then the Elf nodded and disappeared.

“Where did you send Tauriel?” Kili asked as Moira returned to the camp.

“I sent her up to Weathertop. From the tower she'll be able to see for leagues around. Make sure we aren't being followed.”

“Good idea.” his brother responded. The story made sense, but something didn't seem right to Fili. If that was all it was, then why the whispering? Why couldn't Moira say it in front of everyone? Kili made a fire as Bilbo gathered more wood for the night, and Moira looked for places to set her snares. Fili kept an eye on all of them. Something was bugging him. Something wasn't right. He didn't know what it was, but he was _not_ happy about it.

Tauriel was gone for over an hour. Kili began to worry, but Moira assured him that she could handle herself, making Fili's frown deepen. He kept his thoughts to himself, and despite Bilbo's protests, they ate without her. Moira began to get restless, looking to Fili as if she was uneasy, casting glances up at Weathertop and around the surrounding area when she thought no one was looking. The Elf was doing something other than surveying the landscape. Fili was sure of it now. When he was just about to demand answers, Tauriel rushed into camp, and her speed and the grim expression on her face had everyone leaping up and reaching for their weapons before she even uttered the dreaded word: “Orcs.”

And then they were upon them. Fili didn't know how many Orcs there were, but it were dozens, he was sure. While they weren't as large as the Gundabad Orcs they had fought in the battle after Erebor had been reclaimed, neither were they the small, spindly things that most Goblins were. Their sheer numbers made the fight difficult. Kili's arrows sang through the air, but soon his brother's quiver was empty and he was forced to fight with a sword instead. Fili lost track of Bilbo and Moira in the chaos. He caught glimpses of Tauriel fighting with the typical Elven grace, moving with a purposeful elegance that could almost convince one that she was dancing, not dealing death to those who opposed her.

A large Orc barreled towards him, and Fili barely raised his sword in time to catch the downwards swipe of the Orc's crudely-made weapon. But he managed to deflect it, and with the sword in his other hand he plunged it into the Orc's chest. He whirled around before the Orc's body had hit the ground, looking for another attacker. He was not disappointed. Presently Bilbo appeared beside him, cutting down an Orc that had nearly taken his head while Fili was occupied with two others.

“Where's Moira?” he shouted, as the Hobbit stood guarding his back. A little ways away, Fili could see his brother and Tauriel fighting in a similar fashion. But his Ranger was nowhere to be seen. “I don't know,” Bilbo panted as he deflected another blow from an Orc before shoving his short Elvish sword upwards into its belly. “She was right behind me, and then she wasn't.” Fili noted with approval that Bilbo's technique had improved, but he was still clumsy compared to rest of his companions. The brave little Hobbit's biggest advantage was that the Orcs so clearly underestimated him. Well, he'd learn. Clearly he would have to.

A loud cry of pain that was cut off by a choking sound caught Fili's attention. When he found it's source, Fili's heart nearly beat out of his chest in his panic. A particularly large Orc was holding Moira by the throat, lifting her above the ground so that her feet dangled in the air. She had been disarmed of her sword, and the Orc was roaring into her face, savoring her fear and pain. Fili and Bilbo both began to race towards her, but before they could get to her, she had plunged one of her daggers into the Orc's neck. He dropped her with a grunt, and she rolled away from him, coughing. The dagger was still stuck in the Orc's neck, and she drew it's mate from her boot. She had only one weapon now. She clutched it in front of her, hands shaking, still staggering from the temporary lack of air.

A blur of gray burst into the fight, brandishing a tall sword. The figure was clearly a Man, lean and tall, and he moved with confidence and skill, dispatching several Orcs with ease in under a minute. He fought well, and Fili had to admit to himself that it was his arrival that turned the tide of the fight. Ignoring the stranger for now, he made his way to Moira, determined to fight by her side. She seemed weakened, and her movements were slower and more sluggish than they normally were when she fought. Fili prayed it was because of the tight grip that the Orc had held on her neck, and not for any other reason.

When the last of the Orcs had died, it didn't take long for Fili, Bilbo, Kili, Tauriel and Moira to cluster together, relieved to not only be alive but see that all their companions were similarly breathing. On Fili's part, and he knew his brother's as well, there was also a protective element to their clustering, caused by the newcomer. The stranger was standing with his back to them now, eyes scanning the horizon for more Orcs, he assumed. The hood of his gray cloak had fallen back, revealing shaggy dark hair, but with his back turned Fili could see nothing else. The Man was the one who broke the silence.

“I'm glad I reached you in time, Moira.”

Fili's eyes narrowed in instant distrust. “Do you know him?” It was Kili who asked the question. His brother had his bow lowered, but an arrow was notched and ready, just in case this stranger revealed himself to be a threat. He was wary, and so was Fili. He purposely kept his twin swords unsheathed, gripping them tightly in preparation.

“Not personally,” the Man answered for her, sheathing his own sword as he turned around. “Although we share a mutual friend. Faron sent me.”

Fili was surprised to see that he looked quite young, although his features were strong. He had assumed that the Man would be older, for the way he had fought suggested long experience. Now the unknown Man in their midst was watching the group with bright gray eyes that betrayed a deep intelligence. Something told Fili that this Man's eyes didn't miss much. Moira sucked in a breath in shock. “You're Strider,” she breathed. Fili frowned. Moira's voice was almost... reverent.

The Man looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“I just do.”

The Man – Strider – considered her silently for a moment, before speaking again. “Faron warned me you were a strange one.”

Moira laughed, a sound Fili hadn't heard a lot recently, thanks to the dreams, and his frown deepened. “He would say that.” She turned to him now. “Fili, Strider is a Ranger. And Faron is – was – the commander of my unit.”

“I see you have found your way back to the arms of your Dwarf. Faron will be glad for you.”

A shadow passed over Moira's face now, and Fili saw her shoulders stiffen. It was a small thing that might have gone unnoticed by many, but Fili knew her. And he knew she didn't like people, even those she considered friends, to know too much about her. “So he did recognize the courtship beads. I wondered. And apparently Rangers gossip as much as Hobbits.”

“Hey!” Bilbo protested. (Fili noticed that the Hobbit had sheathed his little sword already.) Moira raised an eyebrow at him, and Bilbo flushed and looked down at his hairy, shoeless feet, muttering something along the lines of “Well, our gossip is usually about food and gardens.”

“Unless I'm involved.” Moira responded dryly.

Bilbo's flush reddened. “Well, apparently, you're a _very_ interesting subject!”

Strider watched the interaction with amusement, before addressing Moira again. “If he gossips, as you call it, it is only because Faron cares for you and wishes you the best.”

Moira ignored that comment, pursing her lips, so Fili spoke up. He stepped forward, lowering his swords to his side but keeping them out. “How did you know where we are?”

“And why exactly would he send you?” Moira added her question to his. “I thought he had kicked me out.”

That was news to Fili. How much exactly did Moira keep to herself? Strider frowned at her last sentence, but apparently decided not to address it. “We slew a number of Orcs coming south, and found that their leader was carrying this.” He pulled out a piece of cloth with letters spread across in black ink, although Fili didn't recognize the language it was written in.

Moira stepped forward to look at it. He saw her pale slightly, but her voice was steady as she responded, “I don't read Black Speech.”

Ice filled Fili's veins. Whatever it said, it couldn't be good.

“It's a bounty. For you.” Strider's face was grim. He paused. He clearly had more to say.

“Spit it out.” Moira hissed.

“It specifies that you are to be taken alive.” There were gasps from the others. Orcs rarely took prisoners. They didn't leave anyone alive. When they did break from that pattern, well, those they took would soon wish they were dead. But for there to be a _bounty_ on Moira's head? That signified something else at work. Fili saw Moira look over her shoulder, meeting eyes not with him, but with Tauriel.

“I take it you know why the Orcs are hunting you.”

“We have an idea.” It was Tauriel who stepped forward now, looking to Moira for … permission, it seemed like. When Moira nodded, she continued. “We are on our way to Rivendell, to consult with Lord Elrond on a matter of some urgency.”

Strider nodded. “I was raised in the Last Homely House as Elrond's ward. I will escort you, if you'll have me.”

Fili didn't like this at all. However, Strider was not an immediate threat, so he sheathed his swords as he stepped forward. “Moira, Tauriel, a word please.” He purposefully took on the commanding tone of Erebor's Heir, nodding at Strider as he pulled the two women away from him. “Kili,” He called, jerking his head in the direction of the new human in their midst. He and his brother did not need words to communicate. Kili hurried over, bow still notched but pointed to the ground, not threatening the newcomer, but wary and ready. Strider accepted their wariness with a nod, raising his hands to show that his sword was sheathed and he had no ill intentions. Bilbo looked back and forth for a minute, before joining the huddle of Moira, Fili, and Tauriel, crossing his small arms across his chest as he listened.

“You shouldn't have told him where we are going.” Fili hissed angrily at Tauriel.

Before the Elf could defend herself, Moira insisted “We can trust him.”

Fili couldn't help gaping at her. Moira did not give her trust easily, and it was obvious from their conversation that she had never _met_ this Strider. So why the air of deference? Awe, even? Instead of asking, he decided on a logical argument, one that Moira was less likely to see as a personal attack.

“Why would Elrond have a human ward? Doesn't that seem a little too convenient?”

“We heard in Mirkwood that Elrond had taken in a mortal child.” Tauriel explained. “I suppose by now he would no longer be a child. Although, I had believed that the boy was called Estel.”

“Of course he's not going to use an Elvish name out here in the wild,” Moira argued. “And anyway most Rangers have many aliases. It's not unusual. Faron is also known as Fox, for one.”

“Fine.” Fili was working hard to control his rising aggravation, and hoped it didn't show in his voice. “Let's assume that Strider and Estel are the same person. How do you know _this_ Man is Strider? You've never met him. How do you know he isn't some vagabond who means to gain your trust and then collect on the bounty himself?!"

“I _know_ , Fili.”

“How?” It was Bilbo who questioned her now. “Are you sensing that? With your … magic?” Bilbo's face was full of concern, but also exhaustion. Moira looked at him in surprise, and the Hobbit continued. “You said your magic was perception-based, that you can't affect the world, but sometimes you can sense things. Is that what's going on now?”

Moira looked uncomfortable. “I … yeah. That's it.”

Fili's eyes narrowed. She was lying. He was sure of it. He had seen that face many times before, and now he knew that the stories she had told then were either lies or severely edited. She was _still_ lying to him! Bilbo didn't seem to notice, but Tauriel had cocked her head to the side and had a strange expression on her face as she regarded Moira. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who felt something was amiss with her.

But Tauriel didn't respond as he expected. “I believe he is who he says he is.” She directed that at Fili, before turning to Moira. “It may make treating with Elrond easier if his ward is on your side.” Why did he get the feeling the She-Elf knew something he didn't? Fili was getting angry now. Whatever was going on, Moira should be confiding in _him_ , not in his brother's Elf!

“We don't have time for this.” Moira looked him right in the eyes, and she grasped his hands in hers. “Please, Fili. You don't have to trust him. Just trust me.”

Despite himself, Fili felt his anger begin to melt when she looked at him with a pleading expression in her beautiful dark eyes. He hated it sometimes, the power she had over him.

“Fine.” He huffed. “He can travel with us. But he's _never_ to be on watch alone. And if he makes one wrong move, he's done.” The severity of his tone left no doubt as to what he meant by 'done'. Moira looked hesitant, but nodded. When they finally got to Rivendell, when they were finally safe, Fili was going to have a _long_ talk with her. He would get to the bottom of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing the meeting with Strider from Fili's POV instead of Moira's. Because of course she'd recognize a young Viggo Mortensen, and suspicious!Fili was too much fun to write, even though that wasn't my original plan. Sometimes I get into the groove with writing and it's like the characters tell me what they think should happen. Things usually turn out better when I let them have their way, so we ended up with suspicious!Fili in this chap.  
> And if you're wondering where Legolas is since he was sent to find Strider at the end of the third Hobbit movie, don't worry, I haven't forgotten, he'll show up eventually.  
> Just a warning that I'm going to be HEAVILY fucking around with canon in the present-day chapters. But the next chapter will probably be a flashback chapter, because I'd like to get the flashbacks wrapped up before certain things happen. Hope you enjoyed this chappie, and as always, please show your appreciation with reviews!


	24. The Song of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent this entire day writing and banged out this whole chapter in one day. A Saturday well-spent, I think.  
> I'm referring to the sun as “her” because Vikings see the sun as female, but so do Hobbits and Elves, in case you were wondering. Middle-Earth tidbit there. :)

Moira had been tingling with apprehension since they had left the ruins of Laketown. This could easily be the hardest part of the quest for her, even more than the battle that would soon come. Thorin was ambivalent about her presence under the best of circumstances; now, she would have to contend with the fearsome and legendary temper of the uncrowned Dwarf King while he was under the thrall of gold.

The four Dwarves who were her companions took her silence in stride, but of course they mistook her worry as being about something else. Although none of them spoke of it, they were afraid that the five of them were all that was left of the Company. How could the others have survived if Smaug had been let loose on Laketown? And if Thorin had perished, well, that would make Fili the new King Under the Mountain, something that Moira knew he was _far_ from prepared for. Despite being the Heir, and likely having trained all his life for his eventual responsibilities, he was still very young. He most likely had figured he would not be King for at least another century, if he thought about it at all. When she saw him gazing at the Mountain with a slight frown on his face as they rowed across the lake, Moira grabbed his hand and squeezed, trying to give him a reassuring smile. Fili returned the squeeze, a small, grateful smile ghosting across his lips as he did so.

The trip to Erebor took nearly the whole day. After rowing across the Long Lake, they abandoned their dingy rowboat on the rocky shore and proceeded through the hills that lay before the Mountain on foot. The sun was just beginning her descent towards the horizon when they came upon the ruins of Dale. She had just began to truly dip behind the treeline when they were finally before the huge, broken doors of Erebor. Bofur ran ahead of them, through the ruined gate. Smaug had presumably been the one to destroy the thick stone doors, as he burst through on his way out of the Mountain. Rubble was everywhere, marring what would have surely been a magnificent sight otherwise.

Racing ahead of them, Bofur called out for his brother and cousin. “Bombur? Bifur? …. Anybody!” His voice echoed in the cavernous hall.

“Wait! Stop!” The panicky voice preceded the arrival of the Company's burglar.

Bofur was delighted to see the Hobbit. “Its Bilbo, he's alive!”

Bilbo skidded to a stop in front of the group of four Dwarves and one human, panting slightly. “We need to leave. We all need to leave.”

Bofur was clearly confused. Even the ears of his ridiculous hat seemed to droop in response. “But we only just got here.”

Bilbo hardly heard him and continued with his desperate babbling, talking right over the normally cheerful Dwarf. “I've tried talking to him. But he won't listen.”

Óin interrupted him and got the Hobbit to acknowledge their questions.“What do you mean, laddie?”

“Thorin!” Bilbo gasped in exasperation.“Thorin, Thorin. He's been down there for _days_. He doesn't sleep. He barely eats. He's not been himself. Not at _all_. Its this place.” Bilbo gestured around wildly, indicating the Mountain caverns around them. “I think a sickness lies on it.”

Moira knew what Bilbo was referring to, so she kept her eyes on Fili as the flustered Hobbit spoke. The blonde prince looked over Bilbo's shoulder and seemed to notice something, but all the others were focused on their burglar.

Alarm crept into Kili's voice as he questioned Bilbo. “A sickness? What kind of sickness?” But Fili ignored the group and started to run past them, descending the stone steps. Moira followed. She could hear Bilbo behind her, calling out to both her and Fili to stop, and the others hot on the Hobbit's heels. Moira came skidding to stop behind the suddenly stationary Dwarf, almost crashing into his back. His mouth was open as he gazed in awe at the sight before him, an expression that was soon mirrored on the other three Dwarves' faces as they came up to stand beside them. Erebor (or at least, the hall they were in) was _huge_ , like utterly, completely, _insanely_ massive. The vast hall was filled with immense stone columns and large staircases intricately carved in the Dwarven style, and it was beautiful, even in it's semi-ruined, soot-covered state. But it wasn't the monumental stone pillars that were holding everyone's attention.

No, that would be the gold. It was _everywhere_. Piles of it, heaps of it, _mountains_ of gold, which Moira was sure was much, much taller than her at many points in the room, just spread over the entire cavern in rolling hill-like shapes. Most of it was in the form of gold coins, but she saw cups, jewelry boxes, chains, and other golden odds and ends mixed amid the coin. Here and there a jewel of a different color twinkled red or blue or white. Strangest of all, the gold seemed to be lit from within, lighting up the darkness as the meager light from the torches was caught on the gold, reflecting and refracting the fiery illumination a thousand times.

 _Does gold normally glow in Middle-Earth?_ Moira thought to herself. _Or is this a magical thing? Is it because there was a dragon sitting over it for so long? Is that how you know it's cursed?_ Moira had never seen a fraction of this wealth. She had no comparison. Neither did any of her comrades, even the princes, who had been born in exile. The effect was …. strange. It was almost intoxicating. She hadn't expected to feel drunk when looking at the treasure hoard. Vaguely she realized that if it was affecting her, a human, it must be hitting the Dwarves much harder, with their innate love of stones and all things shiny. Suddenly Moira remembered that she had signed a contract saying that 1/15th of all this gold was hers …. Sweet merciful Odin, what would she even _**DO**_ with this much gold? Not even the treasure the Vikings had bought back from the invasion of Paris could compare to this, and that had been their most successful raid ever!!

And in the middle of it all wandered Thorin. He was dressed in richly adorned royal furs, and he would have looked magnificent if it wasn't for his odd behavior. He wandered aimlessly over the seas of gold coin, never looking up, his eyes entranced by the vast riches. Worse of all, while he was wandering the deep waves of gold, he was muttering to himself “Gold. Gold beyond measure. Beyond sorrow, beyond grief.” The way he said _gold_ was reverent, even worshipful, and the words were slightly slurred, as if the gold really was drugging him somehow.

The expression of awe on Fili's face gave way to one of shock and disbelief as he took in the state of his uncle, bordering on horror. Thorin finally noticed he was being watched, but when he raised his addled eyes to meet Fili's, he didn't register his beloved sisterson's horror. “Behold the great treasure hoard of Thrór!” he boomed proudly. The raven-haired Dwarf in the sea of gold below threw something up to them, which Fili caught easily. He turned it over in his palm, studying it for a moment. It was a red jewel, a ruby perhaps, as big as Moira's fist.

“Welcome, my sister's sons, to the kingdom of Erebor!” Thorin spread his arms wide as he said that, obviously meaning to encompass the roiling sea of gold. As if a kingdom was only the riches it possessed, and not the people who lived there. Moira tensed. _Here we go_.

~0~0~0~

And so it began. Each day was spent searching for the Arkenstone, from long before sunup until far after dusk. Thorin hardly slept or ate, and seemed to become angry when the other members of the Company still wished to attend to the bodily needs that he neglected. When he did sleep, it was atop the piles of gold. It couldn't have been comfortable, but he was unwilling to leave the treasure unguarded. He became more and more surly as time went on and the King's Jewel was not found. He stomped around angrily, casting suspicious glances in every direction, grumbling and muttering about betrayal and vengeance. Moira had known right away that Thorin had fallen under the thrall of the gold, of course, but it had taken the others a little longer to accept the obvious. After a few more days, though, there could be no denying it.

Although Fili and Moira had found a room mostly untouched by dragonfire that they shared in the night, during the day they toned down the signs of affection they showed each other. They had discussed taking out her braids, but had decided against it. He already knew they were together, and it felt like too much of a betrayal of their connection to do that. But in front of Thorin, they behaved as if they were just close comrades, even though he knew differently. He knew _very_ well. But it would not do to tempt his fearsome anger more when he was in such a state.

They were in their chambers now. Moira knelt in front of the fireplace. She was using some of the ruined furniture from one of the other rooms as wood. It had been far past saving, and she and Dwalin had hacked several pieces to firewood-sized scraps to be distributed among the Company. That way they could at least be warm after an exhausting day of Thorin cracking the whip on the Great Arkenstone Search™. Now, Moira stuck her flints together over a pile a tinder, attempting to start a fire to keep them warm tonight. Fili just watched her from nearby. He had collapsed into the only chair in the room, exhausted from another wasted day searching the vaults.

“It's true.” He finally said, his voice heavy with despair.

Puzzled, she turned her head towards him. “What is?”

“There's a strain of madness in my line.”

Moira didn't say anything. She just set down the flints. The fire could wait. She'd been cold before. Instead she went to Fili and crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around him tightly. There was nothing she could possibly say that would make Fili's pain better. All she could do was offer what little comfort she could. His hands encircled her waist and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, the wild mane of golden hair tickling her chest and chin.

He sounded hoarse as he went on. “Thrór went mad, Thrain went missing, most like mad as well. And Thorin is going mad now.” _And it could happen to me one day_. The last part wasn't spoken aloud, but it was heavy in the air between them. Fili was clutching her as if she was a life-raft, as if she was the only thing keeping him alive. The fear of going mad was something Moira understood very well. She couldn't tell him that, of course, but she understood. Since she knew there was nothing she could possibly say that would make it better, she just held him tightly, running her fingers through his hair. And when he raised his head to face her, she very gently lowered her lips to his.

~0~0~0~

The night that the survivors from Laketown made it to Dale, Thorin had everyone stay up all night to block the gate with mortar and stone. As the Company worked he flitted among them, his black-furred robe flapping behind him like the wings of a bat, giving orders as he went. “That's it.” Thorin's deep baritone boomed as he watched Moira load stones into a cart. “I want this fortress made safe by sunup. This Mountain was hard-won. I will not see it taken again.”

Moira hated what they were doing but kept her mouth shut. She needed to stay on Thorin's good side. He hadn't mentioned her human heritage in almost 4 entire days, which was a good record for him. Kili, bless him, couldn't hold his own tongue any longer. “The people of Laketown have nothing. They came to us in need. They have lost _everything!_ ”

Kili's challenge made Thorin angry. Of course it did; everything made him angry these days.“Do not tell me what _**they**_ have lost. I know well enough their hardship.”

Despite knowing it would most likely prove fruitless, Moira couldn't help adding her voice to Kili's. The King's nephew was the one first speak up, after all. “Then maybe you should be a little more sympathetic! Don't you remember what it's like to be homeless?”

Bad move. It seemed to remind Thorin how much he disliked her. “And what would a _Ranger_ know of these matters? You, you have always been homeless! You Rangers are a dark folk, wandering the wilds, bringing ill news wherever you go!”

“I _wasn't_ always homeless.” Moira tried to object, but Thorin was ignoring her to continue his speech as he ascended the steps to the balancy and looked out into the night, glowering at the campfires in Dale.

“Those who have lived through dragon fire should _rejoice_. They have much to be grateful for.” He paused, before turning and bellowing again. “More stone. Bring more stone to the gate!” 

Moira sighed, and did her part in blocking themselves in, despite her feelings on the matter. At one point as she handed stones to the others (smaller and lighter than the ones the Dwarves could handle, but she'd be damned if she was just going to sit the work out so Thorin could use her inaction against her later), Fili's fingers brushed over the back of her hand, and he smiled a silent smile of encouragement and understanding.

~0~0~0~

It wasn't long before they were all gathered at the top of the gate, with Bard riding up to greet them astride a white horse. He was polite and seemed genuinely happy to see that they were alive.“Hail Thorin, son of Thrain. We are glad to find you alive beyond hope.”

Thorin, deeply lost in his goldsickness, couldn't see that. Of course, Thranduil's army of Elves who had appeared in the night sure as fuck didn't help matters.“Why do you come to the gates of the King Under the Mountain armed for war?”

“Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in, like a robber in his hold?” Bard retorted.

“Perhaps because I am expecting to be robbed.”

“My Lord, we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak with me?” Bard's tone was still polite, still hopeful this could be resolved with words. Moira felt sorry for him.

Thorin inclined his head regally and descended the stairs to ground level, where there was a small hole in the wall that had been left for just this purpose. Moira couldn't hear their conversation, but the exact words exchanged didn't matter. She knew what the outcome would be. She was sure that this was something her mere presence wasn't going to significantly change. And she was right. It was not long before Thorin just slid out of the view from the small hole that he was speaking through, effectively ending the conversation, with a threat of “Begone! Ere our arrows fly!” and Bard stormed off.

“What are you doing?” poor, sweet Bilbo. Trying to be the voice of reason, still. “You cannot go to war.”

Thorin was turned to the side, as he surveyed the land before the gate. He answered the Company's burglar without looking at him. “This does not concern you.”

“Excuse me, but in case you haven't noticed, there is an _army_ of Elves out there. Not to mention several hundred angry fishermen. We are, in fact, outnumbered.”

“Not for much longer.”

Bilbo was clearly confused. “What does that mean?”

Thorin finally turned, walking to Bilbo and gazing down at the confounded Hobbit with affection. “It means, Master Baggins, that you should never underestimate Dwarves.”

Moira couldn't stop herself. Bilbo still looked so confused and frustrated, and she felt sorry for him. She had been much like him once, long, long ago. So it was more for the Hobbit's benefit than anything else that she said to Thorin “You called for reinforcements already, didn't you?”

When Thorin looked at her then, she saw the goldsickness and madness clouding his mind reflected there, and distrust warring with … the person he used to be, maybe.

“Yes.” He finally said, although his frown made it seem as if he didn't want to tell her. “My cousin Dain and the Dwarves from the Iron Hills will come. We have reclaimed Erebor. Now ... we defend it until our allies arrive.”

Fili and Moira's eyes met. Moira thought she saw helplessness there. They both knew this was going to end badly. Only Moira knew how badly.

~0~0~0~

Moira was on watch late one night when Bilbo came to her. Fili had spent the first half of her watch with her. But he had held last watch the night before and was exhausted, so she eventually insisted that he retire and get some rest. Reluctantly, Fili left her to her duties, but not before planting a toe-curling kiss on her lips. It wasn't long after he left to collapse into their shared bed and steal what sleep he could that the Hobbit approached her, which made Moira wonder if Bilbo had been lurking and waiting to catch her alone. He admitted as much when she asked him.

“So, what's so important that you needed to talk to me this late, but so private you wanted to wait till I was alone?” She had a good idea, but it was better not to let Bilbo know she knew.

Bilbo considered for a moment. He looked around quickly, making sure they were truly alone. Instead of explaining with words, which would sometimes fail the flustered Hobbit when he became emotional, he reached in the pocket of his coat and pulled out the object of Thorin's obsession. The Arkenstone. Moira reached out to touch the jewel, and was surprised that it felt warm. It was as if the light it cast was alive. Her breath hitched. It was incredibly beautiful. “So you found it.” Her voice was quiet.

Bilbo quickly hid it in the safely of his coat again. Which was smart. In the dark, it glowed like a beacon. They shared a look, neither speaking for a long moment, each waiting for the other to begin. Finally, they both started. At the same time.

“Thorin's not in his right –”

“I don't know what to do –”

They both immediately tried to apologize, still talking over the other.

“Bilbo, I'm sorry –”

“Moira, I didn't mean –”

They lapsed into silence again, still looking at each other, before trying a third time, to similar results. They went quiet again, eyeing each other, and then suddenly Moira began to giggle uncontrollably.

“This isn't funny!” Bilbo protested, a scandalized look on his face.

“Y-y-yes, yes it is!” The ridiculousness of the situation must have occurred to him to, because he started to grin despite himself. Bilbo's nose twitched as he tried to keep from laughing, but soon he had dissolved into his own fit of mad giggles. Soon they were both holding their hurting sides from the laughter. Eventually, though, it died down, and they sat side-by-side in silence, until Bilbo spoke up.

“Balin said that if Thorin had the stone, it would most likely make his madness worse.”

The Ranger and Hobbit were silent for a while longer, staring up at the stars above them and at the fires across from the Mountain in Dale. It was chilly tonight, and Moira had a warm wool cloak wrapped around her. The survivors of Laketown were unlikely to be so well equipped.

“I believe it.” Moira responded quietly.

“I have an idea. But I'm scared to do it.” Bilbo's voice was wavering. Suddenly, because she had borne this burden alone for the entire quest, and she had to tell _somebody_ , the words came tumbling out unbidden. “Fili's going to die.” Bilbo looked at her in shock, his jaw dropping. “Kili and Thorin too.” Tears started to well up in her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. “I have to stop it.”

“Did the runes tell you that?” he asked quietly. Moira nodded solemnly.

“They could be wrong.”

Moira shook her head. “Oin's portents about the Mountain were correct. And I know how to use the runes.”

Bilbo was silent for a moment, before he asked another question. “When?”

“Soon. Very soon. A few days, I think.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since the beginning of the quest.”

She expected Bilbo to be surprised, but he just looked sad. “That explains a lot.”

She creased her brow, and Bilbo clarified. “About you and Fili.”

“Oh. Yeah. That's true.” Moira returned the sad smile that Bilbo was giving her. “You have to do what you think is right, Bilbo. I want to support you, but I can't risk getting on Thorin's bad side right now. I can't have him throw me out of the Mountain. If he does, they'll all die.”

“So you don't think the battle can be prevented?” Bilbo asked quietly.

Moira considered. She couldn't tell him about the Orcs, so she just said “I don't know, Bilbo, I don't know.” The heavy sigh that escaped her was genuine. Bilbo looked up at her, and then all of a sudden his arms were around her neck, pulling her down to his level and hugging her tightly. The Hobbit's face was buried in her neck. Moira returned the hug, wrapping her arms around him, tears welling anew at the sudden affection.

“I can't lose him....” she whispered into her friend's hair, not realizing she was saying the exact same words that Fili had spoken to her about his brother just a few days before in Laketown.

“You won't.” Bilbo's voice was fierce. “I promise, Moira, we'll protect them. We'll protect all of them.” The Hobbit's voice cracked on the last word, and Moira couldn't help but wonder if there was something more than friendship behind his desperation. She pushed the thought away and rubbed his little back comfortingly for a moment, before she pulled away. “We have to be strong from them.” she whispered.

Bilbo looked up at her. “I have a plan.”

“Don't tell me what it is.” Moira said. “It's safer that way.” _I already know what it is, anyway._

Bilbo nodded, gave her another quick hug, and then disappeared silently into the night, as only a Hobbit can do.

~0~0~0~

The next morning they were all dressed in full armor, knowing that it was very likely the day would end in battle. Even Moira was wearing something, a light sleeveless armored tunic that she had managed to find. Finding one that both fit her and was not too heavy for her to move in had been quite the feat, but knowing that the Battle of Five Armies was coming gave her plenty of motivation to search through all of the armory's many extra store rooms until she found something that would work. This tunic was leather, with armored plates sewn into it to protect the vital organs. In that way it would allow Moira a movement and speed that none of the other armor in Erebor possibly could. It was very un-Dwarven, actually, and Moira wondered what the story behind it was. Maybe it was a gift from a visiting foreign dignitary during the reign of Thrór. But wherever it had come from, it didn't really matter. It would serve her purpose.

Fili soon came to stand beside her, and she did a double-take. He sight of him in his armor was simply stunning. Fili noticed her reaction and smirked. Moira wanted to flirt with him, but the stone in her stomach reminded her of the seriousness of this day. _This is it_. When they had been summoned to the gate and found Bard and Thranduil waiting to speak, Bard riding a horse and the Elvenking on that ridiculous moose of his, Moira knew what was going to happen. Her entire body strummed with fear. This could go very, very badly. Thorin drew an arrow and shot it, aiming at the ground between the hooves of the Elvenking's mount. Thranduil finally stopped his ride's forward march. “I will put the next one between your eyes.” Thorin threatened. The Dwarves around her cheered. Moira kept silent.

The too-fair blonde Elf smirked up at the Dwarf King, clearly savoring what he was about to reveal. Moira steeled herself. “We have come to tell you that payment of your debt has been offered. And accepted.”

Thorin's confusion only made him angrier. “What payment? I gave you nothing. You have nothing!”

Bard's voice was smug and satisfied as he reached into his coat. “We have this.” And he pulled it out. Even from so far away, it was obvious that the fist-sized white jewel could only be the Arkenstone. It glowed unnaturally, drawing all the light in the vicinity to it and reflecting it back in an array of white rainbow waves that glowed like warm sunlight. There was only one Arkenstone; there could be no other.

Kili was the first to react, breathing out quietly in surprise, “They have the Arkenstone.” Then the younger Prince of Durin began to shout his outrage at the top of his lungs.“Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house? That stone belongs to the King!” Despite Kili's louder response, Moira could _feel_ Fili seething with rage from where he stood next to her.

Bard tossed the Arkenstone into the air, easily catching it as it came back down. _Little shit_. “And the king may have it. With our goodwill. But first he must honor his word.”

Thorin wasn't buying it. He would not allow himself to believe that the most precious heirloom of his race was in the hands of a Man and a Elf. He tilted his head to Kili, saying calmly “They are taking us for fools. This is a ruse. A filthy lie.” Then he turned back to begin yelling angrily “The Arkenstone is in this Mountain! It is a trick!”

Knowing what was next, Moira's body tensed.

“It's no trick. The stone is real. I gave it to them.” Bilbo's voice. He appeared out of nowhere. Hobbits really could move unseen when they wanted to.

The Company parted, horror and betrayal on many of their faces, and Thorin turned to confront their burglar. The heartbreak on the Dwarf's face was palatable, and his voice was strangled as a single word came out. “You?”

“I took it as my 15th share.” Bilbo said by way of explanation.

Thorin's anger was covering deep hurt now. “You would steal from me?”

“Steal from you?” Bilbo fairly stuttered “No. No, I may be a burglar, but I like to think I'm an honest one. I'll let it stand against my claim.”

“Against your claim? _Your claim_. You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!”

Bilbo looked infinitely sad, but there was a steely look in his eye as he faced down the Dwarf who could easily kill him. “I was going to give it to you. Many times I wanted to, but...”

“But what......thief?” Thorin spat out.

“Thorin ….” Moira stepped forward now, a quiet warning in her voice. She didn't want to see her gentle friend dangled over the ramparts if she could help it.

Predictably, Thorin's rage turned toward her. He whirled around to face her, making his fur coat flap and his long hair spin and twist on the breeze. “Did you help him?” He demanded. She shook her head vigorously, but couldn't manage to say anything. Against her will her throat had closed up in panic. That seemed to make Thorin's ire rise higher (of course). He stalked closer to her. “I asked you a question, RANGER.” He growled. “DID. YOU. HELP. HIM?!”

“Uncle,” Fili tried to interject weakly.

Thorin and Moira both shushed him simultaneously, and then Moira looked into Thorin's clouded, maddened eyes and summoned all her calm to answer him firmly. “No.”

“I don't believe you. You're already stolen my Heir, why wouldn't you take my birthright and deliver it into the hands of our ancestral enemy?! You have always been our enemy!”

“I'm not.” Moira protested. “Everything I've done has been to help you, to help your quest.”

Bilbo scurried around the Dwarf King, stepping in front of her, drawing Thorin's considerable wrath away from her and back to him. Bilbo was far calmer than he should be in this situation. “Moira had nothing to do with it. She had no idea. I did it alone. You are _**changed**_ , Thorin. The Dwarf I met in Bag End would _never_ have gone back on his word! Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!”

Thorin growled lowly. “Do not speak to me of loyalty!” Then he bellowed: “Throw him from the ramparts!”

Disbelief rippled through the Company. No one moved. Thorin was even more infuriated to be disobeyed by his kin. He turned to Fili now, his Heir, bellowing “Did you not hear me?” as he tried to drag Fili towards Bilbo to force him to do the deed he commanded. Fili fought him off with a loud “NO!”, not looking him in the eyes when he had broken his uncle and King's hold on his sleeve.

Seeing that no one would comply with his command, Thorin ground out “I will do it myself!” yanking Bilbo by the front of his blue Laketown coat and throwing him upon the stone wall.

“Curse you! Curse you, and all halflings!”

“No!” Both Moira and Fili jumped forward, one on either of the Dwarf King's arms, trying vainly to pry Bilbo from Thorin's grasp. His grip was iron, and try as she may, Moira's thin human fingers could not peel Thorin's hands from Bilbo's coat. She may as well have been a gadfly for all the attention that he paid to her, as he bellowed his rage at his one-time friend, whose upper body now dangled off of the parapet.

Thorin screeched “Cursed be the wizard that forced you upon us!” as Bilbo dangled, the fierce wind whipping through his honey-colored curls. Moira could see the abject terror in the Hobbit's eyes. And it was at that moment that the very same wizard walked through the army of Elves, his normally grandfatherly voice taking on a tone of loud, clear command.

“If you don't like my burglar, then please don't damage him. Return him to me.”

At that Thorin released Bilbo, more from shock at seeing Gandalf before the gate than any actual intent to do so, and while he was distracted Moira and Bofur quickly spirited the Hobbit away.

Gandalf continued, keeping Thorin's attention on him.“You're not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?”

Thorin yelled over the ramparts. “Never again will I have dealings with Wizards! Or Shire-rats!”

Bilbo looked up at her from where he dangled above the precipice, his small body curled tightly around the rope.

"Come with me.”

Moira shook her head. “I can't. You know why.” Bilbo nodded, blinking away tears, and scampered down the rope as quick as you please.

Thorin wasn't looking at her when he ground out “Go with him.” For a moment Moira didn't know who he was addressing. She felt faint as she realized that Thorin meant to make her leave the Mountain. She doubted she could get to Fili in time to save his life if she had to start fighting the coming battle in Dale. The word of defiance came out of her mouth before she could stop it. “No.”

“No?!!” Thorin rounded on her in anger.

“I'm staying … my King.” She tried to placate him with honorifics, but it only made him angrier.

“You DARE to mock me?!” He grabbed her by the front of her tunic, shoving her to the rampart that still had the rope that Bilbo had climbed down tied to it. His other hand curled into a fist and the arm pulled back, as if he intended to strike her. Moira's eyes widened, but she made no move to defend herself.

“Uncle, no!” Fili lunged forward and gripped the reared-back arm, throwing his weight backwards to counter the force of his uncle's fury (but not have to actually hit him). “Please!” His voice was desperate, scared beyond belief.

“She is Manfolk! She has no place among us!”

“Uncle Thorin, please, I love her!”

Thorin was shaking her hard now. “You WHORE! You stole my heir, my legacy! Do you think you can steal our treasure through him?! Do you think you can take the throne of Erebor??!!”

“I don't care about any of those things!!” she tried to protest. “I just want him!”

Moira could hear Balin babbling something at Thorin, trying to talk him down, and Kili too. But all she could see was Thorin's stormy eyes, his face contorted in fury, his raised fist, and Fili clutching his arm desperately.

“You're lucky I'm not killing you!” Thorin was continuing. “I'm being _merciful_ by allowing you to rejoin your own kind! You _do not_ belong in the Mountain!! Erebor belongs to the Dwarves!!”

“Thorin, please!” Moira begged. The feral light in Thorin's eyes was utterly terrifying. This was not the Dwarf she knew. Thorin was grumpy, yes, and it was true that he didn't like her very much, but this, this _creature_ holding her hostage wasn't Thorin. He was something completely different and far more dangerous. “Please don't make me go down there. _Thranduil's_ down there.” Suddenly there was guilt in the King's blazing blue eyes, and that encouraged her.

“You defended me from him when the Elves first captured us. Don't you remember?” her voice carefully became quiet and submissive, and it seemed for a moment that the cloud of madness receded from the Dwarf holding her for just a moment, leaving guilt, grief, anxiety and despair in its wake. _So much despair_. “Are you going to give me to him now?” There were so many emotions swirling in Thorin's eyes, and Moira began to feel hope that she could talk him down. Before she ruined it.“ _Please_ don't make me go down there, Thorin. I need to stay with Fili.”

And the blue eyes clouded over with madness again. “Fine.” He released her from his iron grip and pushed her roughly towards Fili, who quickly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away. Thorin didn't look at his nephew as he swept regally past them both. “Just remember, nephew, she's your whore, not your Queen.” he declared coldly.

Moira's eyes filled suddenly with hot tears that she had not expected. She blinked several times and refused to let them fall. This harsh treatment by Thorin wasn't unexpected, he was suffering from dragon sickness after all, but it hurt just the same. At least he wasn't insisting she leave or threatening to kill her anymore. Calling her Fili's whore was pretty mild, in comparison to trying to throw Bilbo over the walls.

Bard's voice cut through her thoughts. She wondered how much he had been able to hear of the conversation. She doubted he had caught much of Thorin's tirade. Unfortunately the word “Whore” had been quite loud, and the actions involved were unmistakable. “Are we resolved? The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised?”

And Thorin stalked back to the wall, distracted from the minor issue of her relationship with Fili once more. “Why should I buy back that which is rightfully mine?”

Thranduil smirked evilly and leaned towards Bard, speaking to the Man but making sure his voice was loud enough to carry to the Dwarves above. “Keep the stone. Sell it. Ecthelion of Gondor will give you a good price for it.”

Thorin's legendary rage burst forth once more. “I will kill you! By my oath, _**I will kill you all!**_ ”

“Your oath means nothing!” Bard snapped.

Gandalf's even, grandfatherly voice broke between them. “Thorin, lay down your arms. Open these doors. This treasure will be your _death_.” The gray wizard was playing the voice of reason between Men, Elves and Dwarves. Too bad no one would listen.

Fili, his arms still wrapped protectively around Moira's waist, tried one more time. “Uncle, we cannot win this fight.” Thorin ignored him, his goldsickness-clouded eyes focused on the the Elf and the Man before the gate.

“Give us your answer.” Bard was saying now. _The moment of truth._ “Will you have peace....or war?”

But Thorin would not be persuaded. The song of gold singing in his blood was too strong. And at just that moment, a large raven flew to perch on the stone rampart directly in front of him. An envoy from the Iron Hills, Moira knew. There was no stopping it now. So far events had all played out according to canon. She only hoped she could prevent the breaking of the Line of Durin, but Thorin was not making that task easy for her. The Dwarf King's deep voice rumbled out over the surrounding armies, as sure as oncoming doom: “I will have _war_.”

~0~0~0~


	25. Identity Crisis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not only learning bits and pieces of Khuzdul and Sindarian, but now I'm trying to teach myself Old Norse, as well. Because I apparently hate myself as much as I love languages (my parents tried to teach me Latin when I was young). What can I say? I still have a love of languages even if I never became fluent in any of them.  
> It was bugging me that Moira swears “Odin's beard” in English, even in her mind, when she spent 50 years speaking Old Norse. At some point I'm going to go back and edit that. And things just kind of snowballed from there. I doubt any of my readers are as obsessive as I am, but if you're curious, I've mostly been using the English-to-Old-Norse dictionary that is on perseus.edu (  
> http://www.perseus. Tufts .edu/hopper/definitionlookup?type=exact&q=honey&lang=non )  
> but also the Vikings of Bjornstad dictionary.( http://www.vikingsofbjornstad .c o m /Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm ). Only the Perseus site has a search function. Hopefully I'm doing okay and it's not word salad. I'm also trying to teach myself more Khuzdul and Sindarian for future chapters, because I'm nuts.  
> Imagine what I could do in life if I turned by obsessive personality to something real. Sigh. This chapter is split between Fili's and Moira's POV.
> 
>  **Khuzdul Words:**  
>  Amrâlimê = my love (female)  
> Amrâlumê = my love (male)  
> Durinultarg = Durin's Beard!  
> Nadad = brother 
> 
> **Sindarian Words:**  
>  Mae govannen = Well met (a greeting)
> 
> I've put the Old Norse phrases at the end of the chapter since I feel it would be a bit spoiler-y to have them at the front here. I've tried to make the translation appear on hover text when you scroll over it, but I don't think I'll know if that will have worked until I post, so I may be constantly re-editing it to try to the damn things to work.  
> EDIT: Man, fuck html. I'm still going to try to figure this crap out, so hopefully that doesn't detract from the first readers' enjoyment of the story.  
> EDIT EDIT: fuck html. I feel like a lazy failure, but apparently 3 languages is my limit and I'm not willing to try harder with a computer language. You'll just have to use the wordbank at the end of the chapter. Sorry.

The next few days of travel passed, thankfully, without event. Moira's dreams still troubled her, but they were not the ones that were intense enough to cause her to scream. That was a blessing from Mahal as far as Fili was concerned. He didn't want to explain their purpose in traveling to Strider. After a few days Fili had to concede that the Man was most likely who he claimed to be. He and Moira had conversed several times and discovered that Faron was not the only mutual acquaintance they shared among the Rangers. That led naturally to a swapping of stories about brothers- and sisters-in-arms that Moira had not seen over the winter, or even longer as they had moved farther afield across Eriador. Often they sat together and talked as they smoked their pipes. A new habit for Moira, Fili couldn't help noticing. Watching her sit and talk and smoke with Strider (and especially when she laughed) made Fili burn with jealously. He hated that response, but couldn't control it. Fili had always known that Moira was a Ranger, and he was also aware that most Rangers were men. That is, males, not simply from the race of Men. Yet somehow he had never pictured her interacting so much with them. She had always seemed so antisocial that picturing her interacting positively with anyone he did not personally know was difficult.

Strider had deduced who they all were that first night before even being told their names. At first, that had made Fili more suspicious. But the Man had pointed out that it was rare to find a company of so many races working so well together, and even with a Hobbit, so far from the Shire! Fili had to admit that he would have had less respect for the mysterious Ranger if he _hadn't_ figured out who they were. After all, how many Dwarves were courting an Elf? That alone was a dead giveaway. Which was why they had avoided entering Bree together in the first place.

Strider deferred to Fili's leadership, and made no comment about the fact that he was never on watch alone. Most often he took up the rear of their group as they traveled, keeping an eye out for approaching Orcs. Still not entirely trusting him enough to have all their backs turned to him, Fili made sure that his brother stayed at the rear with him, with left Kili's pony for Bilbo to ride, since Strider was on foot. Somehow the Ranger never slowed them down, even without a steed. Strider accepted his distrust and wariness with understanding and quiet dignity, and almost against his will Fili felt a sense of respect growing for the youthful dark-haired Ranger. It was annoying.

They managed to avoid any more Orc attacks, but a few times they heard Wargs howling in the distance and they knew that they were still being tracked. Moira had told them they would be taking a different path to Rivendell than the one they had entered on the quest. Although she had never used it personally, Strider knew the way to the Ford of the Loudwater well. So Fili supposed it didn't hurt to have him along, just in case Moira's second-hand knowledge of this particular path failed them. Although he felt like a traitor for just thinking it.

One night Fili awoke to overhear a whispered conversation between Moira and Tauriel when the wood Elf was on watch duty. Instead of rousing to relieve himself, he listened intently, hoping it would clear some things up.

Moira's voice was strained. She hadn't been getting much sleep lately. Not that she ever did. But she slept even less, now.

“You need to stop talking to me about it, Tauriel. Until my connection to Rahl is broken, I may be my own worst enemy.”

“Yes, but –”

“Taur, there's a reason I haven't told the others. The more we talk about it, the more it's at the forefront of my mind, the more likely Rahl will find out. And it may be our only advantage right now.”

The Elf was quiet for a moment. “Is it getting worse?” Her soft voice was full of worry.

Moira sighed. “I think I can feel his fingers inside my mind, sometimes, digging around. Keeping the shields up is tiring work, and I can't do it forever.”

“And you're most vulnerable when you sleep.”

A pause. “Yes.”

“So the dreams aren't natural, then.”

“Not entirely.” A sigh. “He's not a Dreamwalker. He can't outright control them, thankfully. That may be the only thing that's saved me so far, and all of you. But there are spells that can help him influence them, yes.”

Another heavy pause between them, before Moira spoke again. “Just remember what I told you. Keep it hidden, keep it safe. And for Odin's sake, _don't_ try to use it. It's deadly.”

In the dim light Fili saw Tauriel nod solemnly.

“I'll reevaluate when we get to Rivendell.” Moira promised the Elf. “But right now, we can't use it, and we can't tell the others. And please, _please_ , stop making me _think_ about it. It's hard enough to control my thoughts as it is.”

Well. That just raised more questions than it answered.

~0~0~0~

“I'll take first watch tonight.” Moira declared when she had returned from setting her snares. Fili had finally started letting her set them alone. Moira suspected it was because he was afraid that hovering too close would look undignified in front of Strider, or something equally ridiculous. But his protectiveness hadn't worn off.

Fili frowned. “You don't have to do that.”

Moira had had enough of his over-protectiveness. “Nonsense. I'm going to pull my weight around here.”

Fili, however, was insistent. “You need rest.”

“I'm fine.”

“You're not.”

“If I'm not, _IF_ , more sleep isn't going to fix what's wrong with me.”

The rest of the group had stopped their activities by now, to watch the battle of wills going on in front of them. At this point the Ranger and the Dwarf were both glaring at each other. Fili's arms were crossed over his broad chest and Moira's hands were perched on her hips. Both had fire in their eyes, and neither was willing to give an inch.

“It's not going to hurt, either.”

“It might.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

A sigh. “It doesn't matter.”

“It does!” Fili's voice was raising now.

“Fili, what matters is that I'm taking one of the watches tonight.” Her voice was low and firm and she was doing her best to make it was plain that she was not going to be argued with. “If you don't want me to take the first watch, fine. I can take the middle one.” Middle watch was the hardest, since you didn't get a solid night of sleep, but rather two chunks of sleep. You not only had to wake in the middle of the night, but when the last watch started, you had to try to fall back asleep again. “Now, which watch would you rather I take?”

His expression clearly told her that she had won. _Checkmate_.

“Fine.” he was actually grinding his teeth together. His frustration and that famous Durin anger was coming off of him in waves, so Moira tried to keep the smirk at her victory off of her face. She mostly successful.

That night as the camp slept, Moira sat glumly by the fire, which was beginning to burn low. Across from her, his face illuminated against the darkness by the glow of the dying fire, sat Strider. The young Ranger and secret heir to the throne of Gondor sat smoking his pipe. She wasn't sure why he had chosen to stay up for part of the watch with her. Moira also wasn't sure how much she was supposed to know about him, as Faron had spoken of him always as _Strider_ and never _Aragorn_. Faron trusted her with his life, but not with the secret of who exactly was the chieftain of the Dunedain. She fought with them, but she wasn't _exactly_ one of them, after all. She wasn't exactly one of anything. So any conversation about Gondor was strictly off the table.

Right now she ignored him and stared into the flames, trying vainly to divine her future and where this new, strange path was going to take her by observing its flickering movements. She absentmindedly fingered the courtship beads on her Mjolnir necklace as she did so. That first morning in Bag End, she had almost put her courtship braids back in. Fili still wore his, after three years. _Three years_ of no contact with her, and he still wore the braids, and her beads! But somehow, it had seemed … presumptuous. It felt like it was outrunning Rahl that bought them back together, not their love. After Rahl was taken care of, if they both survived, she wasn't sure if their relationship would. She was always good when she had a mission to focus on. She wasn't good at idleness. It was easy to fall in love in the wild, when all you had to think about was survival and the person beside you. It was easy to fall in love when at war, when you could die at any moment, when desire was forged in the fire of shared trauma and near misses. Civilization, and everyday life, was much, much harder.

It was Strider who finally broke the stillness of the night. “He cares for you. His harshness is only born from a fear for your safety. Especially in light of the bounty.”

Moira answered without looking away from the flames. “I know.” Her voice sounded hollow, empty. “I don't deserve him.” 

Strider considered her for a moment before responding. “Do you believe that because he is of a royal line?”

Moira shrugged. “There are lots of reasons.”

“Does one of those reasons have to do with the wound on your arm, or your nightmares?” Strider's voice was gentle and kind, but it was the _last_ thing she wanted him to ask. Fuck, was everybody in Middle-Earth this fucking observant? Or was it a King thing? It would make sense if it was King thing. She decided to ignore that question, and speak about something else that had been plaguing her thoughts.

“Did you know Dwarves love only once, and never again? I've ruined him.” Her voice dropped to a pained whisper on the last sentence.

Strider let the deflection pass without comment, instead settling on her choice of conversational topic. “If that is true, and he has given you his heart, then you must treasure it.”

“But I don't deserve it!”

“If it cannot be undone, you must endeavor to _become_ worthy of his heart.”

“What if I never can?”

“You can." He was so sure, so confident, but his voice was brimming with kindness and understanding. "It may not be easy. Your path may be full of trials, and certainly of the hard work it takes to make a relationship work. But it's worth it, if you love him back.”

“How do you know? How the hell did you get so wise?”

He smiled enigmatically around the stem of his pipe. “It's not always easy to love one of another race.”

Moira knew this story, of course. The love story of Aragorn and Arwen was one of best and most epic parts of the Middle-Earth Legendarium. But she had to pretend otherwise. “An Elf, I assume.”

“Lord Elrond's daughter, the Lady Arwen.”

“Ouch. I assume that didn't go over well with him.” Strider's expression darkened and Moira hastily changed the subject. “I hear she's very beautiful.”

“She is.” Strider's entire demeanor changed when talking about her. His face not only softened, making him appear even younger, but the stiffness left his posture and the invisible weight that he carried on his shoulders seemed to lift.

Moira couldn't help but smile at his obvious happiness and infatuation. “We're just two romantic fools, falling for people we shouldn't, aren't we?”

“Perhaps.” Strider smiled back.

Because she didn't know what else to do, Moira pulled out her pipe to smoke. Smoking meant there was no pressure to talk. They sat in silence for a while, until he tired and wished her good-night. When it was time, Moira woke Kili for his turn at watch. The younger prince grumbled under his breath in Khuzdul as he disentangled himself from Tauriel's arms, but nonetheless woke up to do his part. Finally Moira crawled into the bedroll she shared with her own lover.

“I love you, Fili.” She whispered to his sleeping form. “I'll try to be better for you.” She knew she had even more explaining to do when she got to Rivendell. It promised to be very unpleasant. She sighed and pushed the worry away. For now, she just snuggled into the sleeping arms of her golden prince.

~0~0~0~

A week after Fili overheard the conversation between Tauriel and Moira, things finally came to a head. Strider assured them that they were only a few more days journey from the Ford of Bruinen. And then they could finally get answers from Lord Elrond, if indeed there were answers to be had. But Fili didn't allow himself to consider the possibility that there were no answers.

The half-crescent moon was high in sky when Fili was awoken by Moira stirring in her sleep. His senses had become very attuned to her night terrors at this point, and sometimes he would wake before they got too bad. She was only stirring slightly, but her brow had furrowed, and she was whispering something. Fili leaned closer to hear what she was saying. Her voice was quiet. 

“Du're bróðurbani, litt bróðir."

Fili sighed. She was speaking in those strange languages again. This one – whatever it was – was the one she spoke most frequently. Fili didn't understand the words, of course, but the twinge of heartbreak in her voice was unmistakable. She wasn't fearful right now, but the plaintive sound in her tone spoke of a soul-deep hurt that tore at Fili's own heart.

“Hvé kná ek hlíta du, bróðir?”

Fili started to whisper back to her. “Moira, love, amrâlimê, you're okay, I'm here.” And then she reacted in a way he didn't expect. She shot up, instantly awake, and Fili recoiled to avoid having their foreheads collide. It would not have harmed him in the slightest, but he doubted her human skull could take the impact of hitting a Dwarf's. Her dark eyes were casting about the camp, and there was panic swirling in their depths.

Fili reached forward cautiously. “Moira?”

Her eyes finally lighted on him. And what he saw reflected there saw chilled him to the bone. _She doesn't recognize me_.

“Hvar ek? Vera du?” She demanded angrily.

The flat of her palm suddenly collided harshly with his nose, sending stars sparking behind his eyes. In the moment it took him to recover, she was on top of him, pinning him beneath her, thighs on either side of his hips, and she held his wrists pinned at his side. With his natural Dwarven strength he could have thrown her off easily, but the surprising iron in her limbs told him that all but the strongest human males would find it a challenge to do so. At the moment Fili cared more about figuring out what was going on than overpowering her, so he remained submissive. Somewhere at the back of his mind he wondered where Kili was, because it was his turn at watch, and he wasn't responding to this strange turn of events. Had his brother dozed off on watch again?

“You're okay,” he said as soothingly as he could. “I'm not a threat.”

Moira's face was contorted into an expression of confusion and anger. 

“Vera du? Sem er tíðr?”' 

_Uh oh._ She not only didn't recognize him, she didn't seem to understand him. What would he do now?

“Hvar ek?” she demanded again, more forcefully. 

“Hvar ek? Ormstunga halftroll kamphundr!” She shook him as she spewed that in his face. Fili caught “half-troll”, and assumed the rest of the sentence was similar insults. Fili schooled his features into an expression of harmless innocence, one that he and Kili had practiced and mastered when they were tiny dwarflings causing all sorts of mayhem and mischief in Ered Luin, and tried to control the _completely inappropriate_ stirring in his loins that her positioning was causing. Unfortunately, her eyes narrowed and the hiss of anger that escaped her lips told him that he had failed.

Fili heard footsteps then, and tried to tell his brother is back off with a hiss of “Kili, no!” But in a flash she was on her feet, backing up. With both of his axes in her hands. He hadn't even felt her pull them from his boots. There was a stirring behind her, and the fair, curly head of the Hobbit popped up from the bedroll. Fili saw her arm tense and knew what was coming.

“Bilbo, look out!” He yelled at the same time that she whirled and threw the ax. Bilbo squeaked and leapt out of the way of the oncoming weapon, but just barely. It embedded itself it a log behind him. His shout roused the rest of the party, and Moira held the other ax in front of her, stance battle-ready, eyes casting between the five of them in a panic.

“Hvar ek?”She demanded again. “Hvar Ragnar?"

 _Ragnar._ Her King. Her adopted father. When she was Viking. The bottom dropped out of Fili's stomach. She thought she was back there, back in Norway or whichever world her Viking life had been in. No wonder she was behaving this way. She probably thought she had been kidnapped in the middle of the night.

“Dvergr ….” Her eyes were flicking between him, Kili, and Bilbo as she said that.

"Alf!” Well, the meaning of _that_ word was obvious, even if she hadn't been looking straight at Tauriel when she uttered it.

She looked back to him, and Fili thought he saw uncertainty flicker in her eyes. 

“Du're dvergr...” she said again, confusion alight on her face.

“Moira, amrâlimê, come back to me.” Fili held his hands open in front of him in the universal sign of 'I'm unarmed' (even if it was a lie, she couldn't see the knives in his coat). But he couldn't keep the desperate edge of pleading out of his voice, and to his relief it seemed to cause her face to soften somewhat.

A blur of gray knocked her to the ground, and Strider had her disarmed, the ax tossed into the grass a little ways away, his large hands pinning hers above her head.

“Neinn! Neinn!”She howled and bucked, the uncertainty in her eyes gone, knocked back into her delusion. "Du villi kenna vàrr reidi!! Ragnar villi komma!!"

“What. … is … going … on?” Strider grunted as he struggled to hold her immobile. “What's wrong with her?”

_Good question._

“It's Rahl.” Tauriel looked at Fili as she said that. “He's been in her mind, digging through her memories. It's confusing her. It's not her fault, she doesn't know what she's doing.”

The flash of anger and betrayal was red-hot and blinding. “Why didn't she tell me?” He roared to a shocked Tauriel, who had never seen him lose his temper. “Why didn't YOU?!”

Tauriel opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Strider, who was still struggling with Moira. “Not now! Somebody get me some rope! Argue later!”

“Villi tortima du! Hvergi!!” Whatever she was yelling now was a threat, Fili would bet his beard on _that_.

Fili was impressed the Man was holding his own with her. He knew she was stronger than she looked and when enraged she would be quite a challenge, especially for a mere Man. A Dwarf or an Elf could handle her relatively easily, but she had spent lifetimes fighting her own kind by now. Bilbo rushed to pull some rope from his pack, and Fili to help the Man. She paused her struggling for a moment when she caught sight of him, and gazed at him in slack-jawed confusion. That was encouraging, Fili supposed, that something in her seemed to recognize him. But the struggling started again within mere moments as soon as Bilbo returned with a rope in his hands and Strider forced her to stand with her hands behind her back. She was fuming, hissing what could only be threats and curses in that Viking tongue of hers, trying to kick anyone who came close as Strider dragged her to a tree and started to tie her to it.

“Forgive me, amrâlimê,” Fili murmured as he joined the Ranger and moved to tighten the ropes, drawing her arms around trunk of the tree. He played her story over in his mind, the bitterness of history repeating itself on his tongue as he remembered how while under Rahl's spell she had been tied to a tree somewhere in the woods of D'harra after trying to kill her friends. How her wizard, Zedd, had failed to bring her back to herself. But her future lover Cara had. He only hoped that their connection was as strong as the one she had shared with the rogue Mord-Sith.

Fili was surprised when she suddenly went slack, the fight just disappearing as if it had never been there.

“Amrâlimê ….” she whispered to the empty air in front of her, a bit uncertainly. It filled him with hope as he moved around to face her, crouching next to her. Strider had bound her ankles together so she couldn't kick out.

“Yes. Do you remember that word?” She was looking at him with suspicion in her dark eyes, but something else, too. “Do you remember what it means?”

Realizing what he was doing, Strider had retreated to the campfire, leaving Fili alone with Moira. Alone, but carefully watched by the others.

“Moira?” Fili began again, carefully keeping his voice soft, nonthreatening. “Do you remember the meaning? Do you remember, amrâlimê?”

“Am … amrâlumê?” Fili's heart leapt as she correctly responded with the masculine version of the term of endearment, but right now, it was a question. Her eyes were clearly asking who he was. And what he was to her.

He tapped his chest. “Fili.” He gestured at her, saying slowly “Moira.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes, but she shook her head violently in denial. “Brenna.” She insisted. “Brenna.”

Fili shook his head slowly, sending his golden locks swishing. He noticed how she watched his hair move and wondered if that was what had set off some kind of sense memory within her. She had always loved his long, thick golden hair.

“No, not Brenna, not anymore. It's Moira now. Moi … ra.”

“Moi … ra,” she repeated after him, still uncertain. She was sounding out the name, running it around her mouth, tasting it on her tongue, trying it out. “Moira.” There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

Encouraged, Fili nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, you're Moira. _My_ Moira, amrâlimê. Moira,” he gestured to her “and Fili.” he tapped his chest again. “Moira and Fili.”

“I'm … I'm Moira.”

Hope surged in Fili's breast as she seemed to slowly be remembering how to speak Westron.

“I'm – I'm in Middle-Earth.”

“Yes! Yes, you are.” Cautiously, Fili reached out and touched her, caressing her face. The confusion cleared from her eyes, and she looked horrified as the realization of what she had done hit her.

“Fili! I'm sorry! Oh Gods, Bilbo! I'm so, so, sorry!” A tear trickled from one of her eyes, and Fili wiped it away, before withdrawing. 

Fili wanted badly to hold her, to comfort her, but he suppressed that instinct. She had lied to him too much lately, and he wanted answers more than anything else right now.

“You need to tell them.”

Fili jumped. _Damned Elves_. Tauriel still walked so softly that you could not hear her footfalls, especially if you were occupied with something else.

Moira winced. “Tauriel, please....”

“No! You almost _killed_ Bilbo! You are _losing_ yourself, Moira!”

Before Moira could respond or Fili could demand answers, the infuriatingly calm voice of Strider broke up the argument almost effortlessly. “I think you had better tell me what is going on.” It wasn't a request. It was a command, spoken like one who was used to leading, who had commanded men in battle and would do so again. It was unexpected coming from this somewhat ragged, weather-stained Man with knotted and unbrushed hair.

 _Durinultarg_. The newest Ranger in their midst knew even less than Fili. This would be a long night if Moira decided to tell him everything.

~0~0~0~

Moira had decided _not_ to explain the world-hopping to Strider, for now. He didn't know her well enough yet to not decide that she was simply mad. It had been hard enough to tell her friends. She did tell Strider about Rahl, leaving out the gory details, as well as the specifics that would have identified him as being from outside of Middle-Earth. Thankfully the others took their cues from her.

“Now, these last few weeks, since Tauriel and I tried to break the connection, I can sometimes feel him digging around inside my mind. He's changed to a more subtle tactic than the pain, since I cut off the mark. I can keep the shields up most days, but its tiring to defend against a constant mental assault, and I have no defense when I sleep.”

Moira was untied now, sitting down, Tauriel beside her. The Elf was the only one who was willing to get close to her right now apparently. Not that she blamed Bilbo, who was lurking on the other side of camp. He was looking at her with concern, but obviously shaken up. She was still somewhat uncomfortable with the friendship that Tauriel wanted to cultivate with her, but Moira had accepted her as an ally. Besides, the Elf was incredibly kind, and she needed that kindness right now. Kili was on the other side of Tauriel, keeping a watchful eye on Moira in case she lost it again. Fili was pacing nearby.

Strider was standing, his face in a firm grim mask, unreadable. His posture was stiff, and he watched her, and everything around the camp, with his keen gray eyes. He had taken on the mantle of the commander, probably unconsciously. This was Aragorn standing before her, not Strider the Ranger, although the others didn't know it. She kept that knowledge to herself for now. She would explain everything to Fili when they got to Rivendell. They were so close now.

“I've heard whispers that a necromancer had taken up residence in Dol Guldur.” Strider finally spoke. _Well, shit._ Apparently he hadn't been to Rivendell in the last three years, either that or Elrond didn't tell him about the activities of the White Council. It was a reasonable connection for him to make, given the amount of knowledge that he had. Should she disabuse him of that notion, that Rahl was the Necromancer? No, not just yet. This wasn't the place for councils and consultations, out in the wild being hunted by Orcs. _Odin_ , she was going to busy in Rivendell.

“You are right to make for Rivendell.” Strider continued. “Lord Elrond will help to rid you of this evil. And I understand why you did not tell me sooner. You did not know me well enough to trust me yet. Do not worry.” He smiled then, for the first time since she had started telling her severely edited tale to the other Ranger. “I hold no grudge.”

“Well, now that _that's_ solved,” Fili finally ceased his pacing, coming to a stop beside Strider, glaring at her. His voice held a sarcastic edge that made her cringe. “I want to know why you didn't tell _me_ you were having so much trouble!”

He had every right to his anger. Moira felt ashamed. Truly ashamed. She should have told Fili, she knew that. Some part of her had thought she was protecting him, but really, it was selfishness. It was motivated by the desire to not appear weak. “I didn't want to worry you.”

“You know what worried me? Waking up with you holding me down, gibbering in another language! Throwing _MY_ ax at Bilbo! Some warning would have nice!”

“I know! I'm sorry! I had no idea I would … _regress_ like that!!”

The argument was cut off by a sudden howl, much, much closer than they heard so far on this journey.

“Oh no...” She exclaimed as Fili cursed in Khuzdul.

Bilbo came running up to the group, face pale. “That was Wargs, again, wasn't it?”

“Don't let the horses run this time!” Moira yelled. Soon they were all mounted. Tauriel snatched up Bilbo, placing him in front of her on her large horse, despite some protesting. After some quick arguing, it was decided that it was best for Strider to ride Moira's horse, and for Moira to ride with Fili. Being small for Manfolk, her extra weight was not likely to overtax his pony. It would have been seriously awkward if the howls of the Wargs hadn't told them just how close they were. As it was, the adrenaline pumping in everyone's veins kept the thought of what she had just done out of their minds. For now. 

 

~0~0~0~

They rode hard and fast all night and for half the day, until all their steeds were exhausted, slick with sweat and foaming at the mouth. They were only a few hours from the Ford, only a few hours from safety, when the Orc pack finally caught up with them. Tauriel slowed her horse to drop behind the group, and Kili drew his bow and began to fire arrows at their pursuers,while Tauriel directed the stallion on where to go. They were trying to cover the others as they fled.

A riderless Warg sprung at Moira's brown mare, knocking Strider to the ground. The horse let out a loud, piercing shriek of pain as the claws of of the dark creature tore at it, and its jaws closed around the Man trapped under it.

“NO!” Moira bellowed. She slipped under Fili's arms then, sliding to the ground as she drew her daggers. She raced towards where the huge Warg that had her fellow Ranger in it's mouth, shaking him like a rag-doll. The sword had fallen from his hand and his eyes were glazed over. The monstrous creature could have easily crushed him, ending his life. It was playing with its prey like a cat does with a mouse. Moira dodged and didn't engage several Orcs, only stabbing or knocking them back when they got in the way of her goal. She instead leapt on the back of the Warg, driving both her daggers into its skull, one behind each ear. She tilted the daggers forward and in, twisting them, scrambling the creature's brain inside its own skull. The great Warg's eyes rolled up into its head and its jaw dropped, releasing the ragged Ranger. Bloodied and wounded Strider rolled away from the falling corpse of the Warg, retrieving his fallen sword, and forced himself to his feet with obvious effort. He nodded his thanks at Moira before they diverged, both taking on more of the Orcs on foot. Kili was no longer mounted, but still firing arrows into the Wargs that circled them.

 _He's alive, then_ , Fili thought as he drew his twin swords from their scabbard on his back, _Good_. He still wasn't sure if he liked the Man, but he could handle himself in a fight and they would need that. Fili braced himself as a Orc rushed at him. Fili wasn't sure when exactly he had dismounted the pony himself, but suddenly he was in the thick of it. Dwarven steel clashed with the brittle, crudely made weapons of the surrounding Orcs. He was vaguely aware of the death-cries of one of the other horses, and the stamping hooves of the other two fleeing. They would be on foot the rest of the way to Rivendell then.

“Moira!” Tauriel called while slashing the throat of one Orc and moving quickly to another. “What about using the weapon?”

_Weapon? What weapon?_

“No!” Moira yelled back. “We can't tip our hand yet!”

But Fili didn't have much time to think about this mysterious exchange as two more Orcs charged him simultaneously. He roared a battle cry in Khuzdul as he raised his swords to clash with theirs, silently thanking Mahal that he had inherited his father's ambidextrous leanings as well as his swords. The world narrowed to the red haze of battle fury as he ducked and whirled and slashed and hacked and dodged and blocked and charged. He couldn't see his brother in the chaos, but he could hear the distinctive _twang_ of arrows being let loose. That meant that Kili still lived. That, or Tauriel had abandoned her daggers and switched to her Elvish bow. Even worse, Bilbo was in this mess somewhere. The quest had changed him much, and there was a new steel in the little Hobbit's soul. But he was still the least trained of the entire party. But there was no time to dwell on that. All there was the fight. The song of battle sang in his blood, as it did in the blood of all Dwarves, and Fili lost himself to it as he fought the ancient enemy of his people. Vaguely he was aware that another had joined their fight, an Elf by the way he moved, but Fili did not concern himself with the newcomer's identity. Not yet.

When the fight finally ended, Fili could not have said how much time had passed. An hour, a day, a year … it was all the same. He breathed a sigh of relief to see his brother was still alive, leaning on Tauriel, but alive. They limped over to him at the same time that Bilbo appeared next to him, moving remarkably silently. The Hobbit's ripped clothing was covered in black gore, his little Elvish sword still clutched in his hand. The new Elf, a blonde, had his back turned to him and was talking lowly to Strider in a way that made it seem as if they knew each other. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Fili couldn't place it from this distance and angle. Strider was wounded, leaning on Moira, and Fili's eyes narrowed.

They all stood for a moment, battered, bloodied, the battle frenzy starting to wear down, among the scattered bodies of dozens of Orcs. At least 30, maybe 40 of them, Fili would wager. Perhaps more. A sizable force. The grass was slick with the black blood of Orcs and the air with its festering foul smell. Suddenly Moira spotted something, gasped, and pushed Strider roughly aside. An arrow bloomed from her shoulder on the left side. A wordless scream ripped from Fili's throat at the same time that Kili and Tauriel whirled, both of them impaling the last Orc with their arrows, the archer hidden the trees they all had missed. Strider knelt beside her as Fili rushed across the field. _Too close to her heart. Far to close. _was all he could think as he ran.__

____

____

“Why?” Strider demanded, gathering her in one arm as he attempted to staunch the sickening flow of blood. “Why take an arrow for me?”

“Because,” she said, smiling up at him in a way that made Fili's stomach twist, “Gondor needs it's king. It's true king.”

 _King?_ Fili's mind whirled. _But that line was broken, long ago. Only Stewards rule in Gondor now._

Strider seemed just as confused as he was. _She's wrong, then_. Fili thought with satisfaction as he reached her side. _She's confused, like before_.

“How did you know?” Strider asked in awe. _Durinultarg._

“I know.” The same enigmatic answer she had given Fili. She looked to Fili now, apologetically, grasping his outstretched hand. “I was going to tell you when we got to Rivendell. There wasn't time. There's …. never …. enough …. _time_.”

And giving proof to her words, she passed out.

The Elf stepped forward then, and Fili recognized him. Legolas. Tauriel's former liege, and son of the Elf who had imprisoned them all. Who had threatened Moira. “We make for Rivendell on foot.” he declared.

“ _We?_ ” Fili snarled at him.

There was a sorrow in Legolas' eyes then, that Fili did not know the cause of. But his One had been seriously wounded and he did not want to see this tree-hugging bastard claim to be one of their party right now.

“Easy, Nadad,” Kili breathed from behind him.

“Mae govannen, Tauriel,” Legolas was saying, but Fili wasn't listening. He didn't care if his brother's Elf responded.

“Can you carry her?'” Strider addressed Fili.

Fili bristled. “ _Yes_.” He declared a little more forcefully than he had to.

For the briefest of moments, there was offense in those clever gray eyes. But it passed. “Of course.” He gently passed Moira to Fili's outstretched arms. “I meant nothing by it, Master Dwarf.”

And they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I despite what I said in the comments on an earlier chapter, I decided to go with the "sanity slowly slipping away" thing, because crazy is too much fun to write.  
> I did not intend for Fili to be so jealous, I don't think he's naturally super-jealous, but as I was writing it came out that way. Afterwards, I was thinking about why that may be, I realized that with the amount that he's been lied to by her, overreacting a little right now would probably make sense. And I apologize for another cliffhanger. As a reader I hate those but as a writer they're fun. The next chapter will be the flashback to the Battle of the Five Armies, and then we'll pick up in Rivendell. There may be ONE more flashback chapter after that to wrap up the Hobbit quest, like in a healer's tent or something, and then it's on to the next quest with no more flashbacks.
> 
>  **OLD NORSE PHRASES:**  
>  Du're bróðurbani, litt bróðir = You're a kinslayer now, little brother. (bróðurbani = literally “brother-slayer”)  
> Hvé kná ek hlíta du? = How can I trust you?  
> Hvar ek? = Where am I?  
> Vera du? = Who are you?  
> Sem er tíðr? = What's going on? (literally, “what is happening?)  
> Ormstunga halftroll kamphundr = Serpent-tongued half-troll carrion eater  
> Dvergr = dwarf  
> Alf = elf  
> Neinn! = no!  
> Du villi kenna vàrr reidi!! Ragnar villi komma!! = You will feel our wrath!! Ragnar will come!!  
> Villi tortima du!! Hvergi!! = I will kill you! Every one!!


	26. Meet Me on the Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Five Armies begins ....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Khuzdul Words:**  
>  Du Bekar! = To arms!

_While still on the quest, as the Battle of Five Armies is about to begin …._

Meet me on the battlefield  
Even on the darkest night  
I will be your sword and shield,  
Your camouflage and you will be mine

Echoes of the shots ring out  
We may be the first to fall  
Everything could stay the same  
Or we could change it all

– Battlefield by Svrcina

_Thorin would not be persuaded. The song of gold singing in his blood was too strong. And at just that moment, a large raven flew to perch on the stone rampart directly in front of him. An envoy from the Iron Hills, Moira knew. There was no stopping it now. So far events had all played out according to canon. She only hoped she could prevent the breaking of the Line of Durin, but Thorin was not making that task easy for her. The Dwarf King's deep voice rumbled out over the surrounding armies, as sure as oncoming doom: “I will have war.”_

~0~0~0~

Moira prayed silently to Odin and Thor and Frigg; to Mahal and Eru and all the Valar; to the Seven Gods of Westeros; to Rayetso, that strange, pale, alien God of her golden-eyed Castitian husband, and to Irisa's Irzu, the savage God of the Iraths; to Castiel, the seraph she had known personally and, once or twice, intimately; to the nameless Creator Goddess that Kahlan had prayed so ardently to and Whom Cara had abandoned; to the Force that Kanan had held faith in right up to the moment that the lightsaber blade had sprouted from his chest; to every God and Goddess and spirit and power she had ever heard named in every world and universe she had ever been to; even to her mother's God, the White Christ she had abandoned long ago, long before she had officially become Viking.

 _Please. Please. Please._ The mantra played in her head on a loop as they watched the battle unfold below them. _Let this work. Let me save them. Let me save Fili. I offer my own life in return. Please. Please. Please._

She still did not have a coherent plan, other than to stay by Fili's side at all costs. Hence the fervent praying that was on the tip of her tongue and which threatened to actually spill out into the world, giving voice to her soundless fears. She forced her lips shut, set into a hard line. If she had once considered telling Fili that she knew the outcome of this battle, telling him of her self-imposed mission to save his line, it was too late for that play now. Far too late. However this day would turn out, she would have to bear the consequences of her silence alone.

When the approaching army from the Iron Hills had crested the hill, the sound of their stamping boots was reminiscent of thunder. Despite the fact that she knew that all three armies were going to need to soon unite against a much greater threat, Moira couldn't say that she hadn't enjoyed seeing Dain threaten to kill Thranduil to see if his corpse would still smirk. The Elvenking had turned out to be a much bigger dick than either the books or the movies had let on. She _almost_ wished that Dain actually would split his head open.

When the Orcs appeared, Fili had wanted to go over the wall and join the fighting, immediately starting to rally the other Dwarves for the task. Only Moira had expected Thorin to command them to stand down. The Company had been incredulous. That was their _kin_ our there, their friends and family. And Thorin was willing to let them all die for a pile of gold.

And so now they waited. Waited and watched the bloodshed happening below them, helpless to lend a hand. Moira was leaning on the parapet, watching, face twisted into a frown as she tried to count how many trolls were down there in the Orcish army. Fili paced behind her, his restlessness a palpable entity that she almost imagined hovering over him like a fell shadow. The other Dwarves were scattered around the gate, either watching the battle unfold, or sitting in dejection, their eyes on their feet, ashamed. Kili was one of the later.

Besides the daggers that Tauriel had returned to her, Moira was carrying a halberd. Dwarven-crafted swords were far too heavy for her to wield comfortably for any extended period of time, and her daggers would not give her the necessary reach for fighting so many enemies. She had settled on a poleaxe-type weapon, which would give her the same reach as a spear, but had the added advantage of a small ax on one side of the tip, and a sharp blade on the other. She hadn't fought with a quarterstaff style in a while, but she was sure that the forms would come back to her easily, and it was so much less risky than a sword that was too heavy for her to grip for more than 15 minutes. Besides that, she had almost as many knives as Fili usually carried, stashed in as many places on her person as she could possibly hide them. She had a feeling she'd need as much help as possible today. Every weapon possible would most likely be needed.

The sunset was shining behind him as Thorin came striding out onto the battlements. The crown was no longer resting on his brow, and the Dwarf King had shed the furred robes of his grandfather. The setting sun back-lit him like a halo, making him glow. And for a moment, Moira could almost believe that he was an avenging angel, one of the Maiar themselves come to join their battle. A new peace had settled around him, and for now at least, he had conquered the madness that lay heavy in his line. Moira felt a swell of pride. A small part of her had been afraid that her presence, the added pressure of losing his Heir to a human, would be the last straw that would keep him from breaking free of the curse of Thrór. She was relieved to see that she had been wrong.

Kili was too caught up in his own heartache to notice the change in his uncle. As soon as he spotted Thorin, he leapt to his feet and strode forward, bellowing in a strong voice that poured all his pain and rage forth. “I will not hide, behind a wall of stone, while others fight our battles for us!” He thumped on his chest for emphasis. “It is not in my blood, Thorin.” The youngest Durin's voice wavered on his uncle's name.

Thorin smiled, a strange tranquility gracing his noble features, blue eyes affectionate as he took in his nephew's warrior spirit.

“No, it is not.” The elder Dwarf placed his hand on the back of Kili's neck as he spoke. From where she stood, Moira could see the younger prince's bottom lip tremble with emotion as Thorin continued. “We are sons of Durin. And Durin's folk do not flee from a fight.”

They bought their foreheads together then, and there were tears in the younger prince's eyes as he smiled. 

Fili looked conflicted. Moira poked him in the side. “Go to him.” He evidently needed to know that she didn't blame Thorin for his prior actions before he could forgive his uncle himself.

Fili scowled.

“That wasn't him before.” Moira told him gently. “That was the dragon sickness. Go to them, make your peace.” _Just in case I can't save you. Don't let the conversation on the ramparts be your last._ Thorin was listening, and when she looked his way she thought that Thorin was looking at her with surprise, gratitude, and … was that respect? _No_ , Moira told herself. _Don't get your hopes up_.

Moira poked Fili in the ribs again, harder this time. “Don't make me drag you over there by your braids.” She accidentally took on the 'mom voice' as she said that. Fili couldn't help the faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and he gave her a look of overpowering gratefulness and intense love. Moira watched silently as the blonde prince made it over to his dark-haired brother and uncle.

“Uncle,” was all that Fili could get out. Thorin and Kili each wrapped an arm around Fili and pulled him close. Three came together in a half-hug, half-huddle, all three of their foreheads resting together. The rest of the Dwarves stood apart, respecting the Durin family moment, but they were plainly happy to have the real Thorin back. _At least they're together_. Moira thought to herself. _At least I didn't drive too much of a wedge between them_.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few moments, Thorin pulled himself from the arms of his nephews. He approached her now, and despite his conciliatory manner, Moira felt a wave of apprehension wash over her all of a sudden. She instinctively took a step back. Thorin noticed, and he stopped in his tracks. Thorin's eyes sought out hers, and when she had the courage to meet them, she saw guilt there. Deep, overwhelming guilt, as deep and vast as the sea that those stormy Durin blue eyes mirrored.

“Moira,” Thorin's voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I owe you an apology most of all.”

Moira's lips twitched, but she said nothing. She didn't blame him for the dragon sickness, but still. He owed her more than that.

He cleared his throat, clearly discomforted, but fully aware of what she was doing. “I … apologize … for calling you a whore. And for attempting to strike you. It was unworthy, dishonorable, and unkingly.”

“And cruel.” Moira added.

“Yes. And cruel. I cannot take it back, but I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Moira nodded. “Thank you, for apologizing.”

“And,” Thorin closed the distance between them now and laid his hand on Moira's forearm, and she controlled the involuntary flinch that threatened to break out. “Thank _you_.”

“For what?”

“For not turning my nephew against me. Even when I deserved it.”

“I want what's best for him.” She responded truthfully. “I want him to be happy. And you're his family, his kin. _Nothing_ is more important than that, not even me.”

Thorin nodded gravely, his blue eyes serious. _I've misjudged her this entire time_ , the Dwarf King thought to himself. _She did not deserve my mistrust. I have no idea how to make it up to her. Or to Bilbo_. The thought of the Hobbit sent a deeper pang to his heart, although he didn't know why. But Thorin couldn't allow himself to dwell on it for too long. He turned then, addressing the entire group. His Company. His people. His kin.

“I have no right to ask this of any of you. But will you follow me, one last time?”

There were murmurs of assent from around the group, grim but relieved smiles on many of their faces. Thorin understood. They had feared him lost to the gold forever. In truth, so had he. Yet they had stood by his side, loyal to the end. Even the human had remained loyal, even after he had threatened and abused her. Thorin felt shame that he could have treated a woman so, warrior or not. It was a great disgrace. If Dis had been here, she would have beaten him senseless and taken the crown from him.

The Ranger had moved to stand with Fili, and his sisterson looped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. In another situation, Thorin might have disapproved of the public displays his Heir frequently made with her. But not now. _Let him savor what could be their last touch, if this day does not end well_. That thought made an instinctive sense of protectiveness towards the female well up in his Dwarvish heart, and although he knew she would refuse, Thorin had to offer her a way out.

“Moira.” Her dark eyes met his, and a pang pierced Thorin's chest when he saw suspicion there. “You do not have to join us if you do not wish it. You've fulfilled the job that you signed a contract for. You got us through the wild, you got us to Erebor. There is no dishonor if you decide that this is not your fight.”

“This _IS_ my fight.” She looked almost offended. Thorin sighed. It hadn't been his intention to insult the woman again. But she clearly misinterpreted his sigh, because she felt the need to explain herself more. “I'm going to stay with Fili. I'm going to guard his back through whatever comes.”

 _Loyalty, even to death. Perhaps some of Men's daughters do understand it as we do._ “Understand, if you decide to do this, some of you may not return.” He locked eyes with Moira first, before casting them around to the others in the Company.

His sisterson's Ranger shrugged. “Every Viking hopes to fall in glorious battle. I didn't stop being a shieldmaiden when I left Norway.”

Thorin nodded his consent. The Ranger was an adult and could make her own choices. That didn't mean that if she fell he would not feel the burden of guilt, but such was the weight of leadership. Her choices and her fate were her own. Thorin tried to ignore how his nephew was beaming with pride.

A heavy hand landed on Thorin's shoulder, and the eldest Heir of Durin turned to face Dwalin, one of his oldest friends. Certainly his most loyal.

“Lead on.” The guardsman intoned gruffly.

~0~0~0~

The battle was not going well. It was said that Dain Ironfoot fought with the strength and ferociousness of a wild boar, but he was but one Dwarf. They were surrounded on all sides, vastly outnumbered by a superior opposing force. Worst of all, their King was nowhere to be seen.

“Where's Thorin?” Dain called out to no one in particular. To Mahal, maybe. “We need him! Where is he?”

The sound of a loud horn split the sky, louder even than the chaotic din of battle. All eyes, Dwarven and Orcish alike, turned towards it's source. The Gate of Erebor came tumbling down in a stunning display of shattered glory, a huge bell swinging and destroying the piled stone, and suddenly fourteen Dwarves were running out of the rubble, weapons raised. Thorin was at their head, shouting. “Du Bekar! Du Bekar! To arms, Sons of Durin!”

“To the King!” Dain bellowed at the top of his not-inconsiderable lungs. “To the King!” As he summoned the Dwarves of the Iron Hills to rally to their King, Dain was surprised to realize that one of the “Dwarves” who had just charged into the melee was actually a human. And apparently, a female one. There was little time to consider it further as Dain plunged ahead, slamming his great warhammer into the chest of an Orc and following it up with smashing the fallen soldier's skull. Five more rushed to take his place, and Dain continued to battle, his morale and battle fury raised once more.

“Hey cousin!” Dain greeted his raven-haired relative as he knocked aside three of the Orcs attacking his King. “What took you so long?” Thorin laughed as he embraced Dain, the battle still raging around them. The Lord of the Iron Hills couldn't resisting asking the question on his mind as he turned back to the battle. “Who's the human lass?”

“THAT is a long story, cousin. Suffice it to say only death is going to pry her from Fili's side today.”

Dain felt his eyebrows raise so high he was sure they disappeared into his mohawk. He took a moment to observe her, and saw her wielding a Dwarvish halberd with practiced ease, sweeping it low along the ground to trip three Orcs at the same time. As the lass swiped the sharp ax edge of the business end of the halberd across the neck of the Orc closest to her, the blonde prince simultaneously stabbed both his swords into the hearts of the other two. She covered him while he pulled this weapons from the gaping holes in their torsos. The black gore covering his weapons hit his face as he spun. She and the Crown Prince moved as a unit. The lass would hit high, the Prince low. They seemed to anticipate the others' moves before they made them. Dain had never seen a Dwarf fight so well with a non-Dwarf. It was … impressive. “She fights well enough, for someone Mannish.” 

Dain grunted as he returned to the fight, bashing his skull against an oncoming Orc's and then caving in it's chest with his warhammer while it was still dazed. “Especially for such a wee thing.” Yes, she was a head taller than the Prince. But for Manfolk, she was positively tiny.

“Yes.” Thorin grunted as his (suspiciously Elven-looking) blade sliced into an Orcish neck and he seamlessly moved to the next. “She does.”

“Short of drugging her, there was no way to keep her from the battlefield today.” his cousin told him as he passed, cutting down more of the foul creatures before him.

Dain barked a laugh, loud and feral-sounding, as he head-butted yet another oncoming Orc. “My kind of lass.”

“There's too many of these fuckers, Thorin. I hope you've got a plan.”

“Aye. We've going to take out their leader. Azog.” His cousin easily mounted Dain's war ram in one smooth move, his eyes burning. “I'm going to to kill the piece of filth.”

Dwalin, Kili and Fili had found their own war rams in the chaos, and they took off to follow Thorin. Dain's respect for the human lass grew when she leapt onto the ram behind the Crown Prince without hesitation, wrapping her arm around him to clutch the front of his tunic in one hand while she took out Orcs with the weapon in her other. Still, a human …..and the Prince? … Dain shook that thought from his head. Surely not. Surely they were just comrades in battle. Thorin had clearly hired her for her skills, to help reclaim Erebor. Dain trusted that his cousin would not allow a Mannish female to become the future Queen of Erebor.

~0~0~0~

This was it. Ravenhill. She was here. Moira clutched the halberd so hard her knuckles turned white. She feared that she'd snap the pole in half. They had cut down a few Goblin and Orc footsoldiers in the courtyard of the ruined watchtower. Too few. Too easy. Even they knew it. And they didn't know how this day would end. An eerie fog rolled in, obscuring the tallest of the towers from view. Moira feared her heart would beat out of her chest. Surely the Orcs could hear it. Her pulse drummed in her ears, louder than thunder.

“Where is he?” Kili was exclaiming quietly. She barely heard him. “It looks empty. I think Azog has fled!”

“I don't think so.” Thorin's keen eyes were appraising everything around him, before he turned to his eldest nephew. “Fili, take Moira and your brother, scout out the towers. Keep low, and out of sight. If you see something, report back. Do not engage. Do you understand?”

Fili nodded.

“We have company.” Dwalin rushed to his King's side. “Goblin mercenaries. No more than a hundred.”

Moira looked over. She had forgotten about that. That was why Thorin would be busy while Fili would be getting captured.

“We'll take care of them.” the King and his sworn shield took up battle positions. “Go!” Thorin commanded without looking at any of them. His eyes were focused only on the oncoming Goblins. The three of them raced towards a low doorway in the nearest tower. Moira's heart was thundering in her chest in time with her steps. In time with the silent prayer she had taken up again. _Please, Odin. Let me save them. Let me outwit fate, just this once, please, let me have this. Please. Please._ Her muscles screamed at her, but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Not until they were all safe.The prayer in her head didn't cease either, but now it was reduced to only one word, over and over and over. _Please. Please. Please._ Sweat soaked her palms now, making her grip on the poleaxe slide. _Please. Please. Please._ The tunnel smelled of musty decay, not the sharp copper tang of blood or the pungency of Orcish filth that she had expected. _Please. Please. Please._

They started to ascend up a staircase inside the largest tower, and soon came to a junction where three hallways met. Light streamed in through one of the broken and ruined walls. A sound was heard off in the distance. _Please. Please. Please._

Kili made to rush towards it, but Fili stopped his brother with a hand to his chest.

“Stay here. Search the lower tunnels. I've got this.” Kili stopped and for a split second looked like he was going to argue with his brother. Instead he nodded curtly and turned. _Please. Please. Please._

Fili's intense blue eyes bored into her dark ones. “Go with him, Moira.”

She shook her head violently, fear rather than exertion making her breaths short and ragged. _Please. Please. Please._ “No, Fili I'm staying with you.”

“Moira, no.” Fili's tone was pleading. So were his eyes. Damn him, he knew what those eyes did to her. _Please. Please. Please._

“I'll be fine. Please go with Kili. Please protect my brother.” Moira knew that Fili was phrasing his request that way on purpose, in a way that would make her feel more useful than sheltered. Slowly, a plan began to form in her mind. If she was with Fili when Azog took him, the Orcs would most likely kill her right away. They wouldn't know who she was, or think to kill _her_ in front of Thorin like they would Fili. Maybe it was better she wasn't with him for that part. She nodded, silently, and Fili turned to go. _Please. Please. Please._ In a sudden, overwhelming instant of panic, Moira reached out and grabbed the front of his tunic before he could do so, forcing him to look at her.

“Fili,” her voice was thick with emotion. “Don't die.”

_Please. Please. Please._

“I won't.” His free hand reached up and enclosed on hers in its place on his chest. “I'd kiss you, but I need to keep my head in the game.”

Moira nodded again. “Later then.” _Please. Please. Please._

“That's a promise.” His gloved hand stroked her fingers for just a moment, and then he released them and turned away. After watching him for just a second, Moira turned and followed Kili to the lower tunnels. _Please. Please. Please._

She soon caught up with the younger prince. They didn't speak, but he nodded at her to acknowledge her arrival. He gestured to show that he wished to take point, and for her to guard his back. She nodded her agreement, and they began. _Please. Please. Please_. They worked their way through many of the lower levels, finding nothing but cobwebs and ruins. _Please. Please. Please_. Her heart seemed to pound harder with every passing second, for soon the moment of truth would arrive. _Please. Please. Please_. She stood beside Kili, but her heart and all her thoughts were with his golden brother on the upper levels. _Please. Please. Please_. Had Azog found him yet? She fervently hoped that there wasn't enough time for Azog to torture Fili before he dragged him to the top of Ravenhill. _Please. Please. Please._ She had read so many fucked-up fanfics, and she regretted it now as all those horrific images played in her mind. _Please. Please. Please_.

She and Kili came to an stone doorway that led back into the central courtyard of the watchtower. Looking through it, she saw Thorin, Dwalin, and Bilbo there, and knew that the time had come. _Please. Please. Please._ When she saw the sudden shock on Thorin's face and heard Azog start to bellow his taunts in Black Speech, she didn't hesitate. There was no more time for prayers. She immediately vaulted up the stairs beside the doorway, her halberd clutched in both hands. Kili tried to grab her and pull her back, but he was too slow. She'd been mentally preparing for this moment since Gandalf had asked her to join the quest; there was no stopping her now.

Her hurried assent up the stairs was calculated more for speed than for silence, but it probably helped that the Orcs expected to hear only the loud _clomp clomp clomp_ of Dwarvish boots. A Ranger was quieter than any Dwarf. Azog was still talking when she reached the stop of the stairs, holding Fili in front of him by the back of his collar. His feet were dangling several feet from the solid stone of the tower's floor. Deep blue and purple bruises were blooming along his jaw. His blue eyes were lit with primal fear.

The arm that held Fili was closest to Moira; the wicked blade that had replaced the hand Thorin had chopped off more than a century ago was poised to strike. She was lucky that the Orcs behind their general were all helmeted. They couldn't see her through their perphical vision. And she was fast. And agile.

 _“RUN!!”_ Fili bellowed at the same moment that Moira leapt upon the Pale Orc. Azog's blade arm was thrown back to strike. She landed on his back, one arm wrapping around his throat for purchase. She bought her weapon down on the massive Orc, aiming for his heart. Halberds were meant to be wielded with both hands, so she lost some of the power in her stroke. It couldn't be helped. The halberd struck true, but lodged deeply in the Orcish muscle, not going all the way in.

Azog roared, and his arm fell. The blade pierced Fili.

 _“NO!!!!”_ Moira screeched. Black despair and red, red rage clouded her vision. _I've failed._

The massive Orc dropped the Dwarf, not off the edge of the tower, but to the cold stone floor. Fili rolled. And looked up. Clutched his bleeding side. He was still alive. _For now_. Moira had managed to throw off Azog's strike. He hadn't pierced Fili's heart, instead the wicked blade that slid through the flesh of his side. She prayed that the Orc general hadn't stuck a vital organ. Fili was alive. But he was still wounded. And she was still clutching the neck of an enraged Azog with one arm.

Her halberd a lost cause, she reached to her belt with her free arm. Drew one of her daggers at the same instant that the Azog reached back and pulled her off of his back. He held her in front of him by her hair, roaring something at her in Orcish, and she plunged the dagger into his neck, aiming for the artery.

She missed. Blinded by the pain, the dagger missed both the jugular vein and the carotid artery. Instead the dagger lodged itself in the thick muscle of Azog's neck. He dropped his hold on her hair, but quickly his large claw-tipped hand closed around her throat. It seemed like a knife in his neck barely had any effect at all. The Pale Orc grinned at her, a terrifying, evil grin. With two of her weapons still lodged in his body, he was still standing. Still strong. _I'm a fool_. Moira berated herself. _He can't be stopped. This was always going to happen. Now I'm just going to die with them_. Azog tightened his grip around her throat, crushing her windpipe. Moira gasped. Her lungs burned. She scrabbled at the fist around her neck fruitlessly. A strange thought came to her as her vision started to blacken, that Faron would never forgive her for losing one of the daggers he had given her.

Something knocked into Azog from behind, and he dropped her. Moira greedily sucked in lungfuls of sweet, sweet air. She wheezed and gasped as Azog turned to face whatever had slammed into him. The something was bleeding. Red blood, as bright and vibrant as a Lannister cloak, pooled around it's feet. _Fili._ Struggling to see, struggling to think, to breathe, Moira lay on the stone ground, perilously close to the edge. She reached into her armored tunic and drew out two of the Dwarvish knives she had taken from the armory. They were small, but Fili had been disarmed. She tossed them to him. He managed to catch one, although the other clattered to the ground. _Too much blood. He's lost too much blood._ Suddenly Kili was there, stepping in front of his brother. His raised sword was gory. Moira realized he had been taking care of some of the Orcs behind them. _Where's Thorin? Where's Dwalin and Bilbo?_

Azog grinned evilly, reached out, grabbed her by the hair again. Moira's eyes locked on Fili's, and then Azog tossed her over the edge of the tower. As the ground rushed towards her, she heard Fili scream her name. Her head hit hard stone, and she saw no more.

~0~0~0~

 

 

No time for rest  
No pillow for my head  
Nowhere to run from this  
No way to forget

Around the shadows creep  
Like friends, they cover me  
Just wanna lay me down and finally  
Try to get some sleep

We carry on through the storm  
Tired soldiers in this war  
Remember what we're fighting for

Meet me on the battlefield  
Even on the darkest night  
I will be your sword and shield,  
Your camouflage and you will be mine

Echoes of the shots ring out  
We may be the first to fall  
Everything could stay the same  
Or we could change it all  
\- Battlefield by Svrcina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the confrontation on Ravenhill is going to take two chapters. Sorry.


	27. I'll Follow You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scenes are the bane of my existence. I would have had this up a lot sooner otherwise.  
> I'm also wondering if people are noticing the Game of Thrones quotes I've been sneaking into this fic. Smaug said something that was taken directly from one of the episodes. I'm having fun sneaking things into it like hiding treasure. There's another Game of Thrones quote hidden in this chapter, and the person who finds it gets 10 nerd points.
> 
>  **Khuzdul words:**  
>  caragu = dung (curse word)  
> amrâlimê = my love (female)

_back on the quest, in the midst of Battle for Five Armies ..._

If there's no one beside you,  
When you soul embarks,  
I'll follow you into the dark.  
– Death Cub for Cutie

_Azog grinned, reached out, grabbed her by the hair again. Moira's eyes locked on Fili's, and then Azog tossed her over the edge of the tower. As the ground rushed towards her, she heard Fili scream her name. Her head hit hard stone, and she saw no more._

~0~0~0~

_“Moira!!!”_ The shriek ripped from Fili's throat before he could stop it. Azog's eyes glittered with evil glee, and the Pale Orc's toothy grin widened with sick pleasure. Fili lurched to his feet, still clutching his side, as his brother stepped in front of him. Kili's gory sword was raised, grim determination on his face. _Mahal, no, this can't be happening_ , was all Fili could think. He had just found his One. He had just barely barely told her that he loved her. It couldn't end like this!!

Fili ignored the sharp scream of pain from the wound and pushed Kili aside. Bellowing out the rage that sang through his entire being, he rushed the gloating Orc. He was armed only with the small Dwarvish knife she had managed to toss to him. He would follow her into the dark. Whether they ended up in her Valhalla or his Halls of Mandos, among his ancestors or hers, it didn't matter. As long as they were together. But first, Fili would kill the piece of Orcish _caragu_ that had hunted his family for so long. Fili, firstborn son of Vili and Dis, would make Azog pay for all the pain he had inflicted on his kin for so long.

~0~0~0~

Bilbo felt rooted to the spot he stood at. He watched as Fili was stabbed. Watched as Azog choked Moira. Watched as the wounded prince slammed into the Pale Orc desperately. He didn't come to his senses until Azog threw Moira over the edge of the tower. When he did, Bilbo cursed himself for not acting sooner. Thorin and Dwalin were still frozen in horror, transfixed by the frightful scene playing itself out in front of them.

“Thorin!” No response. Bilbo reared his hand back and hit the back of Thorin's head with his open palm. Hard. When the King Under the Mountain gaped at him, confused, Bilbo grabbed the sleeve of his tunic and shook him.

“Get up there!” Bilbo yelled, far too close to the handsome face of the raven-haired Dwarf. _No time to think about that_ , he berated himself. His friend was in danger, if she wasn't dead already. Bilbo let go of Thorin's sleeve and drew Sting. “I'll protect Moira!”

That shook Thorin out of his stupor. The Dwarf nodded, and his blue eyes lit with inborn fire as he raced to the stairs, Dwalin on his heels. _You ridiculous Hobbit, stop waxing poetic about his eyes! Just because they're more intense than a thousand suns…_ Bilbo spared them one last glance before he raced to Moira's side. A sharp rock had ripped a gash open on her forehead, the ugly wound leaking forth red blood. One entire side of her face was bloodied, and her skin beneath the grime was deathly pale. She was so still that at first he feared the worst, but when Bilbo felt for a pulse, he was rewarded with a faint thrum under his fingertips. She was alive. But barely.

Bilbo spared a glance above him, and saw that Azog was being swarmed. He was fighting the combined fury of Thorin, Dwalin, Kili, and Fili, albeit the latter was clearly in a weakened state. Even from here Bilbo could see the bright red stain spreading on his clothes, and it made him feel sick. The boy was so young, far too young to die here. Yes, Bilbo was aware that the Dwarvish Prince was older than he was. But as far as the Hobbit could figure, from the behavior of him and his brother, and what Bilbo knew of Dwarf life spans, Fili was barely out of his tweens. Or whatever the Dwarvish equivalent was. Too young. Too young to be fighting this accursed war. Too young to lose the woman he loved. Too young to die.

Bilbo heard a deep, rumbling growl from nearby that signaled the approach of more of the Orcs. He took a battle stance, copying how he had seen Thorin stand. He lifted Sting high, and his hand only shook a little. He gulped as the Orcs came into view. They were massive by Orc standards, by Mannish or Elven standards. They fairly towered over the Dwarves. But Dwarves were strong and study and had fought Orcs for so long. Bilbo was just a Hobbit. He steeled himself and sent a silent prayer to Yavanna. He would not abandon Moira. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, of Bag End, stood guard over his fallen friend as the Orcs came.

~0~0~0~

In all her 1087 years, Tauriel had never seen a battle such as this. She had served in Mirkwood's guard for 600 years, and as its Captain for 300. She had killed many Orcs in that time, and was confident in her skills. But she had never seen devastation on a scale such as this. When she had heard the Hobbit say that Kili and his kin were up on Ravenhill, directly in the path of Bolg's second army, Tauriel had known true fear for the first time in her immortal life since her parents had been slain. In that moment, her confusion about her feelings fell away, and she knew without a doubt that she loved him. And now she was going to lose him.

When they had reached Ravenhill, Legolas had grabbed the huge leathery feet of one of the Orcish war-bats, hitching a fast ride to the top of the tower and leaving her in the lower tunnels on her own. She raced into the first tunnel she saw, ducking to avoid the swipe of an Orc's sword when he sprang from the darkness. Dipping under his arm as he ran forward, when the Orc had to pause and turn around to face her, Tauriel was ready and slit his throat. When she spun around another came at her, and she cut him down as well. She avoided the swipe of the third and cut the artery under his outstretched arm, hitting him on the top of his head as she did so. He fell to the ground like the others. The Orcs continued to come, and Tauriel continued to cut them down. Still there was no sign of Kili or his kin. Finally desperation won out over reason.

 _“KILI!!!”_ She called out loudly.

“Tauriel!” She heard him respond, but in the roiling mist could not tell from which direction it came.

“Kili,” she breathed quietly this time, relieved beyond words to know he was alive, thanking Eru Ilúvatar that he still drew breath. She should not have allowed herself to be so distracted from her immediate surroundings. Nevertheless, distracted she was, and Bolg came upon her suddenly.

Like his vile sire, Bolg was massive, huge even for a Gundabad Orc. He rushed Tauriel from behind, knocking her roughly into a nearby stone staircase. She recovered, not without difficulty, and tried to launch an offensive. Tauriel made to swipe at him with her dagger, but one massive hand clamped on her shoulder and the other on her wrist. Bolg's hand encompassed nearly her entire forearm, it was that large. His other fist came down hard on her shoulder, and pain sparked through her body, causing Tauriel to cry out. The way the Orc bent her arm back unnaturally made her wonder if her arm was broken.

Bolg closed his hand around Tauriel's throat, cutting off her cry, and lifted her from the ground. The Orc ran his tongue around the broken teeth of his horrid mouth, and the lewd gesture made Tauriel fear something worse than death. Desperately, she kicked him hard between the legs, aiming for the stones. She was released as a result, but when she punched him he grabbed her bodily and she was thrown hard against the stone wall behind her. Briefly stunned, she could only watch as Bolg advanced menacingly, pulling a vicious-looking pike from a sheath on his back.

Suddenly, he roared in anger and pain, and when he turned, the first thing Tauriel saw was two Dwarvish daggers sticking out of his back. The second thing Tauriel saw was Moira, standing behind the Orc. She was in a sorry state. The left side of her face was bloody, her skin pale when she usually glowed with a healthy tan from her many days in the wild. Her dark hair was a tangled mess, braids ragged, twigs and leaves sticking in her hair. Deep purple bruises ringed her throat. Bruises that were as large as Bolg's hands, bruises which had clearly come from an Orcish hand. Her brown eyes were glazed, as if she was fighting unconsciousness, and she was staggering with the effort of staying upright. Tauriel felt guilt claw at her throat, oppressive in its power. _I have done her a great wrong. I stood by and allowed my King to abuse her. And still, she has saved my life, at great risk to her own._

The Hobbit appeared then, stepping in front of his wounded friend with his little Elvish sword raised. He nearly quaked with fear, but his eyes were steely and determined. Tauriel couldn't help but admire the little one's bravery. Bolg was barely affected by the knives in his back. But he _was_ distracted. He roared with fury at his new attackers, ignoring the Elf behind him. Tauriel recovered, retrieved her daggers and leapt onto the Orc's back. With one smooth move, she slit his throat.

When her feet touched the ground again, Tauriel danced out of the way of the Orc's falling body and turned to face the human and the Hobbit. Moira smiled at her, a somewhat dazed look in her eyes.

“Hi, Taur.” Tauriel caught her when her legs gave out, keeping her from gaining another head wound. The near-hysterical human just giggled. “Opps.” She was babbling. “Where's Fili and Kili? I did it. I think I did it.”

The Hobbit – Tauriel couldn't recall his name, and felt badly about that, as well – knelt beside the two women. “Moira, you shouldn't have forced yourself to get up.” concern was lacing the little being's voice as he spoke to the Ranger. “You're too badly wounded.”

“It doesn't matter,” she responded. “As long as everyone else is alright, that's all that matters.”

Just then, Moira's Dwarven lover came into view. The blonde staggered, supported by Kili – _Kili!_ Tauriel's heart leapt – clutching his own bloodied side. Tauriel raised her mournful gaze to meet his worried blue eyes, which widened at the sight before him. She feared that Moira would not last long. If that was what was fated, then Tauriel was glad that Kili's brother would at least be able to say goodbye to his beloved.

~0~0~0~

Fili let out a gasp of horror when he saw the sight before him. Moira was bloody and pale, being cradled by Tauriel, Bilbo kneeling beside her. Despite the pain stabbing through him, he pushed his brother off of him and raced to kneel beside the huddle of people.

“She saved me,” the She-Elf said, sounding almost apologetic as she passed Moira's limp form into his outstretched arms.

“She saved Fili as well,” He heard his brother tell Tauriel. But all of Fili's attention was on the precious, crumpled bundle in his arms. His One. She was pale, and the glazed look in her brown eyes told him that the knock to her skull had her out of it.

“Fili,” she breathed, clutching the front of his tunic. She recognized him, at least. She started to snuggle into his side, before shaking herself as if she had remembered something important.“Kili? Thorin?” She asked, worry lacing her tone.

“They're fine, they're both alive.” he reassured her. He gave her a lopsided grin, trying to sound lighthearted. “Not even a scratch on my baby brother, the infuriating little brat.”

“Azog?” He heard the fear in her voice as she asked that.

“Dead. I slew him myself.” _Well, with some help from Uncle Thorin_.

She sighed happily, and Fili stroked his thumb along her jaw. She leaned into the touch. The light in her eyes was fading, and she seemed to be fighting unconsciousness. “Odin demands a sacrifice.”

Fili tried not to think about the implications of her strange words. “No, Moira, don't speak, I'll find Óin, you'll be alright.”

“Shush, Fili, it's okay. All life comes from blood. Only death … pays for life.” Her pale, bloodied fingers reached up and stroked his face. Fili felt the smear of blood and grime that the touch left on his features. Her smile was oddly peaceful. “I love you,” she told him fervently. “And I'm happy … to give my life for yours.”

Fili heard a strangled sob and realized it came from him. Her eyes drifted to the sky above her. “I think … I see Odin's ravens....”

Fili frowned and followed her gaze. “Moira, those are the eagles,” he told her gently, still unwilling to believe this was how it ended.

She didn't hear him. “Maybe …. He'll let me ….into Valhalla ….this time...”

 _This time?_ Fili mouthed the strange words. She had clearly hit her head very hard, and Fili started to worry about brain damage. That thought fled as she fell into unconsciousness. Fili tried to stand, intending to carry her. But the wound in his side screeched in protest, and he fell back to his knees in an undignified heap, Moira cradled to his chest.

“Here, laddie, let me,” Dwalin appeared from nowhere, his uncle beside him. Fili gratefully gave his One to the guardsman's strong arms. “We have have find Óin,” he told him hurriedly.

“We will.” Thorin offered Fili his arm and pulled him up, supporting him as they began their slow and pained walk. “You need to see him as well.”

“Not until she's seen.”

“Lad, you'll do her no good if you pass out from blood loss.”

Fili considered for a moment. The edges of the world were going black even now. He consented. “Fine. But only if Tauriel sees to her while Óin examines me.”

The Elf looked surprised at his demand, and his brother smiled his wide puppy-dog smile. His uncle was clearly unhappy with the proposal, but he agreed. That was all Fili cared about right now.

~0~0~0~

Everything hurt. Her head was pounding. Her legs were sore. Every muscle, every bone, every nerve screamed in agony. That had to mean she was still alive. Still in Middle-Earth. The realization came to her before she opened her eyes. She groaned. A large, overly hot hand was clutching hers, and suddenly it tightened.

“Moira?” Fili's voice. He sounded … tired. Concerned. She turned her head towards the sound, eyes finally cracking open. “Fili?” her voice sounded so much weaker than usual, and she winced when the light hit her eyes. It was so bright she was blinded, and she couldn't make out any of Fili's features. She could only see the blinding golden light that shone behind him, glinting on his blonde hair, outlining him in glory. The rest of his form was blackness.

“I'm here,” Fili's mouth descended on hers in a quick, passionate kiss that left her burning, despite the pain that racked her body. “Óin wasn't sure if you'd wake up again ...” Fili's voice sounded small as he said that, but then his face brightened. “But you _did_. You're awake, you're okay.”

“How long?” she managed, with some difficulty.

“Three days.”

“Three _days?_ ” Moira struggled to sit up, and fell back onto the cot with a gasp.

“Don't try to move,” Fili was hovering over her with concern on his handsome face. His grip on her hand had tightened. “You've cracked several ribs, and there was some internal bleeding. You also hit you head pretty hard and ripped the skin open on some rocks. If it wasn't for Tauriel's Elf-magic, you'd probably be in much, much worse shape. She says there won't even be a scar on your face once the cut heals.”

 _Elf-magic. Huh._ Moira hadn't counted on that. She had not expected to survive the Battle of Five Armies at all. She had expected to wake up somewhere else, her body whole again but her heart ripped in two, and have to start over again. She wasn't sure what to do now. Well, she knew what she needed _right_ now.

“Fili, water...”she croaked out.

“Of course! I'll be right back,” Fili planted a quick kiss to her forehead and then disappeared. Moira took his absence as a chance to take in her surroundings, moving her head every carefully. She was in a tent, and she could hear the sounds of people moving around outside, the hustle and bustle of a large army camp. Her simple cot had been piled high with furs, blankets and pillows, and there was another cot on the other side of tent. She couldn't help but notice that she had the lion's share of the blankets. Had Fili given up his to try to keep her comfortable? It looked like he had. Next to her cot was a simple wooden chair that had been dragged over. Something told Moira that Fili had spent most of the last three days parked in that chair, not leaving her side. Moira also realized that she was topless. Instead of a shirt, her chest was covered in a mess of bandages.

Fili soon returned, carrying a pitcher of water and a cup, with Óin following behind him. The healer closed the tent flap tightly behind him.

“It's good to see you up, lassie,” the old Dwarf addressed her as Fili poured her a cup of water and put the pitcher on a nearby table. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“I'm not sure this counts as 'up', but whatever,” Moira mumbled somewhat grumpily, and then tried to smile. It came out as a wince. Fili moved to her side, and he held the cup to her lips, tilting it carefully so that she wouldn't choke on too much water at once. When it was gone she mumbled a thank you as he moved to put the cup next to the pitcher.

“I'll need to take a look at your ribs, lassie, if you don't mind.”

“Of course.” Moira nodded.

“You'll need to step out, lad.” Óin addressed Fili, who suddenly looked a little crestfallen.

“He can stay.” The words were out before she thought about them, and Fili visibly brightened. Óin raised his bushy eyebrows, but said nothing. Fili moved to help Moira into a sitting position, holding her up so she wouldn't fall backwards onto the cot. Óin worked at removing the bandages around her chest. Consummate professional that he was, the healer ignored it when her breasts came free. Fili took a corner of one of the blankets to cover her modesty anyway. Óin felt her ribs carefully, eyes on the deep purple bruising lining her torso. He tried to be gentle, but Moira winced at his touch. Every part of her hurt. Fili rubbed her back encouragingly.

Presently Óin grunted. “Well, your ribs are knitting back together at remarkable speed. You're lucky to have had a friendly Elf around when you were wounded. I assume you'll want some poppy milk for the pain?”

Moira nodded gratefully.

“Lad, will you wrap her back up? You know how, I've trained you in battlefield medicine.”

Óin pulled away and started to measure out the poppy milk. He handed the vial to Moira, and she gulped it down. Óin told Fili he was leaving two more doses for her for when it wore off and the pain returned. Fili nodded as he was bent over Moira's chest, tightly re-wrapping the bandages that held her ribs in place.

“If you can handle that Fili, I have other wounded I need to see to.” the poor healer looked worn and harried. He had to be busy.

“Of course.”

“Like I said, good to see you up, Moira.” He nodded absentmindedly in her direction. “And congratulations.” With that odd statement, the old Dwarf was gone, clutching his healer's bag as he went.

“Congratulations? What the heck did he mean by that?” Moira asked when he was gone.

Fili chuckled. “Do you know what you just did?” he asked as continued to wind the bandages around her ribs.

Her brow furrowed in confusion – Fili thought it made her especially cute when she did that – and asked, “No, what?”

“You just officially declared we're a couple.”

Moira's mouth gaped open and her cheeks flared red. “But, but you've already seen me naked, and the whole Company knows that!”

Fili outright laughed now, throwing his head back and rolling his shoulders as he did so. It was nice sound, Moira had to admit. When he finally recovered enough to answer her, his eyes were still sparkling with amusement. “Yes, but a Dwarf only lets the closest of companions see them in such a weakened state, as you are now.”

“That wouldn't necessarily mean we're a couple, because you helped treat my wounds.”

“No, but that combined with the fact that we've been, well, uh –” He coughed awkwardly.

“Fucking?” Moira supplied helpfully.

He laughed again, shaking his head. “I keep forgetting that you aren't, as you say, a lady.”

Moira smiled at him. “I like it when you laugh.” she said softly. Somewhere at the back of her mind she was aware that she probably looked like a doe-eyed love-sick fool.

Fili smiled softly, taking her hand, running his fingers on the backs of her knuckles. “I like it when you make me laugh.”

They gazed at each other for a minute, and Moira started to get uncomfortable when Fili broke the silence. “You saved my life, amrâlimê,” Moira shrugged. “and more importantly, you saved my brother's life. I don't know how I can ever thank you.”

Moira's eyes snapped up to meet Fili's. The poppy milk that Óin had given her was starting to take hold, and a fog was starting to settle on her mind. Not trusting herself to say anything, she kept silent.

“Bilbo told us everything.” Fili was stroking her hair now, and she couldn't help but lean into the touch and sigh. “That the runes told you we were going to die from the beginning of quest, and Uncle Thorin, too. That you made it your mission to keep us alive. I don't know how to express my gratitude to you.”

“You don't have to.” she murmured. Her eyelids were getting heavy.

“I do. But I feel more than gratitude for you, Moira. I – I already told you I love you. I'm afraid I've done things horribly out of order, but … I'd like to give you my beads.”

“What?”

“Oh, you don't know. Of course you don't. Moira, I want to give you courtship braids, and for you wear my beads in your hair. They would be engraved with my rune, and the rune of my house, and I would wear yours. It would make our, uh, association … official.”

 _Say no_. the voice in her head was screaming at her. _This can't end well. You were supposed to die for him, you can't do this, you can't give him what he wants!_ But the great swell of happiness that welled up from deep within her overwhelmed that voice, and she found herself smiling sappyily and responding “I'd love that, Fili.” Maybe it was the poppy milk.

The smile he gave her was just as dopey, and it warmed her in parts of her soul she had thought long-dead. He kissed her again, long and languid, his gentle lips and tongue adding a pleasant fire to her lightheadedness. When he finally pulled away, all her doubts were momentarily silenced, and all she wanted was to bask in his presence.

“Fee, lay down with me?” she asked, tugging on his hand. “It might be a little awkward, but I want to fall asleep in your arms.”

Somehow his smile became even brighter. “Of course, amrâlimê.”

It took some maneuvering, and they had to be very careful of her ribs and the wound in Fili's side, but eventually, they were both under the furs in the cot, bodies pressed together in a comforting closeness. Moira tried to ignore the fear in her breast, and instead just nestled closer to Fili, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck. His arms tightened around her, and she had the unmistakable sensation that, for now at least, she was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end of the flashbacks! Hopefully that's a satisfying conclusion to the quest for Erebor.  
> And yes, I'm aware that Arwen is the Evenstar and that is usually interpreted to mean that she is the last-born of her people. Which means that the age I assigned Tauriel makes her about a little less than 2000 years younger than Arwen. Don't blame me, blame PJ. Even he can't decide how old Tauriel is, since sometimes he said she was only 600 years old, and then somewhere else said she was 1,347. So I picked a number in between and just said that she was in Mirkwood's Border Guard for 600 years.


	28. Emptied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: First off, DO NOT TRUST MY SINDARIN. I'm trying, but don't take my sentences and think I got them perfect, cuz I'm pretty sure I didn't. Just cuz I like languages doesn't mean that I'm that good at them. Thank you to r/sindarin on Reddit for helping me some. Don't blame them either if my Sindarian is broken, it's my fault not theirs.  
> Also, I made another fanmix on youtube for Unmoored. I know, I know.  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLifJL65fP6Q3g_lsb1j2bgZ2WUGu5-tIj  
> Mostly Moira/Fili inspired but a few songs describing the fucked up relationship between Moira and Rahl (you should be able to tell, but just in case, those ones are Monster, No Bravery, Red, and Love the Way You Hate Me. Blood On My Name is Moira's guilt for what she did under Rahl's influence, and the rest are from either her or Fili's persceptive). She's so broken by now it's not even funny.  
> I also made a Filra computer background. My skills suck, it's pretty simple, but :: coughs awkwardly :: I'm obsessed. http://imgur.com/a/qfbD6
> 
>  **Sindarian Words and Phrases:**  
>  ha na- man tírad cin = it is good to see you.  
> Mae govannen = Well met (a greeting)

They moved slower than Fili would have preferred, but it couldn't be helped. Fili had expected that Strider would slow them down even more, since he seemed to be the most wounded. Other than Moira, obviously. But somehow, the Man kept pace with them. He had an incredible stamina and strength of will, apparently. If he wasn't so tall, Fili might have even suspected that he had Dwarven blood, such was his endurance.

More than Moira's physical wound worried Fili. She was in and out of consciousness, and at one point, she had caught sight of Strider, but called him “Richard”. The pain from the arrow wound was not likely to help her confused mental state. If only they still had just _one_ of the ponies or horses, then he could take Moira ahead of the others. But luck was not with them in that regard. Two had bolted, and two had died, including Moira's brown mare Nicki. He knew she'd be upset about that, too. But right now he just wanted to make sure that she stayed alive. If he let her die, it wouldn't end for her. He'd lose her forever (his stomach twisted at the thought), but she'd wake up somewhere else, and her hell would begin all over again. And she was finally opening up to him. Albeit slowly. No, he would not fail her. He couldn't. It wasn't an option.

Fili kept a brisk pace, walking at a speed that was nearly running, but not quite. He needed to make sure that he didn't tire, that he could carry her the entire way to Rivendell. Dwarves were natural sprinters, but not marathon runners. It was better to go steadily and keep his strength.

Fili heard the Ford before he saw it, and knew instantly why it was called the Loudwater. As he came to stand beside the ford, the noise of the water brought Moira around. She looked up at him, eyes bleary, and she looked confused. But not scared or angry, like last time. Fili could see that her mind was moving sluggishly.

“Are you part of the Resistance?” she finally asked.

“I – Yes, lass, I'm part of the Resistance.” Lying to her made his heart heavy, but it was easier to play along with her delusion right now. At least she was speaking Westron this time.

Moira nodded. “We need to find Richard.” she said as she snuggled into his chest. Her eyes were going glassy and she looked like she was going to lose consciousness again. “Rahl is coming for me. The Seeker can stop him.” she nuzzled him slightly, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“She called me Richard earlier.” Strider said as he came up behind him. Fili noticed that as soon as he stopped walking he needed to lean on Legolas, just slightly.

“She's confused. It's why we're here.”

“What's the Seeker?” he asked.

“An old friend of hers. No, I don't know much more.”

At just that moment two dark-haired Elves on horseback came galloping across the ford. There were more Elves on horseback following behind them, but these two had a large head start over their companions. As they came near, Fili recognized them as Elrond's twin sons, but he didn't remember their names.

“Estel, ha na- man tírad cin.” one of them called, confirming that Strider was the mysterious Estel that Tauriel's folk had heard about.

“Mae govannen, Elladan, Elrohir.” Strider answered them.

The other switched to the common tongue. “You have wounded among your party?” His eyes were fixed on Fili, so he stepped forward. “Yes, Moira took an arrow to the shoulder. Pushing Strider – Estel - out of the way.” He couldn't hold back a bit of resentment in his tone, even though he knew that Moira would chide him for it if she was conscious. But she wasn't.

“She always did seem more brave than sensible.” Elrond's son said, nodding. Considering this comment was coming from an Elf, Fili felt he should disagree, should defend Moira to him. But Fili remembered Moira rushing to Bard's aid in slaying a dragon while Laketown burned around her. It was hard to ignore the truth in his statement, so he said nothing.

“We slew a number of Orcs that were pursuing us,” Legolas was speaking now. “But there could be more. You would be wise to send out archers and scouts in search of them, as a precaution.”

“She needs to see a healer _now_.” Fili insisted. He was holding his annoyance in check for her sake. He didn't think the Elves would turn her away and refuse to treat her if he had an attitude, but just in case. It was best to _try_ to be diplomatic. Try to make a better impression than Uncle Thorin had.

One of the Elf twins nodded. “Of course. We will accompany you to our father.” One of them turned their horse and trotted back to the troop of Elven soldiers, most likely ordering them to patrol Rivendell's borders. The other twin drew his horse up closer to where Fili stood, looking like he was going to address him. Fili stood his ground and looked up at him calmly, despite the the height difference and the nervousness fluttering in his belly.

“Elladan, there are several more in our party who have fallen behind.” Strider addressed him before he said anything. “An Elf-maid, a Hobbit, and a Dwarf.”

 _How can he tell them apart?_ Fili wondered. Instead he said, “My brother will protect Tauriel and Bilbo. Right now Moira needs to see a healer. He'll understand if we don't wait for him.”

Elladan nodded. “Still, we need to know to be on the lookout for them.” He seemed to consider his next words carefully. “Master Dwarf, it would be quicker if you would give her to me --”

“No!” The denial was out of his mouth before Fili registered it. His hands tightened around Moira's unconscious form. “I will not let her out of my sight.” He managed to say that a little more calmly.

Strider came up next to him, and placed his hand on the Dwarf's shoulder. Fili looked up into the Man's compassionate gray eyes, and he had the strange sensation that his own blue eyes were revealing all his deepest fears to the Ranger.

“Fili,” the Ranger's voice was soft. “They have no ponies for you to ride. Moira _must_ be seen, it cannot be delayed. You can trust them. I will vouch for them personally. You will not be separated from your lady-love for long. But for her, these moments may be vital.”

Fili looked into the Man's eyes, and he knew he spoke the truth. That didn't mean he had to like it. “If anything happens to her, I'll be holding _you_ personally responsible.”

Strider nodded gravely. Because he couldn't reach the Elf on his high horse, Fili passed Moira to Strider's arms. He staggered a little, but took the burden and passed the unconscious form of his fellow Ranger up to the waiting Elf above.

“It appears that you should pay a visit to the healer as well, Estel.”

“I'll survive, Elladan. Get her to your father.”

The dark-haired Elf nodded and turned his stallion around, galloping towards Rivendell. Fili's eyes followed him.

“Let's get going.” he insisted as soon as the horse disappeared behind the treeline. Strider and Legolas followed silently as he crossed the Ford.

~0~0~0~

She's surrounded by a circle of five soldiers, several of them with swords drawn, laughing and leering at her. She holds her fists raised in front of her, ready to fight them, her eyes darting from one to the other in panic.

“I'm taking her first,” one of them declares, lunging at her, reaching for her with just his hands.

She tries to punch him, tries to imitate the moves she's seen on TV or that Jaime has made. But all that happens is that pain shoots up her arms. They barely affect him, and soon he has her on the ground. She flails underneath him, beating at his leather-clad chest with her tiny, ineffectual fists, until he pins her arms above her head with one large hand holding her wrists in a brutal grip.

“The Kingslayer isn't here to save you, whore,” he sneers down at her. His breath is repulsive, and he smells like rotting dead things. “But feel free to squirm as much as you like. I don't mind a bit of squirming.”

His other hand rips at the bodice of her peasant dress, roughly manhandling her fragile breasts beneath it. She can't help the cries of pain and fear, and even though she knows he won't listen, she begs him to release her anyway. Her skirt is pushed up to her waist. The solider tries to force her legs open with one hand. She viciously knees him in response. He curses and punches her in the face. Stars burst behind her eyes and her teeth rattle. She can feel blood on her face now and wonders if he broke her nose.

“You're just making it worse for yourself, girl.” He sneers, and then demands that the other soldiers hold her down. One went to hold each leg at the ankle, and another her shoulders, tying her hands. The rope was tight, cutting into her wrists. Through the haze of fear assailing her she can she that the fifth solider has stood back and pulled out his cock, stroking himself as he watches his companions attempt to subdue her. “Hit her harder.” he encourages them. _Sadistic bastard_. The one who had taken her down is starting to undo the laces of his breeches now.

“Noooo!” she wails. She is backhanded again, causing her lip to split and more blood to leak down her chin. _Where is Jaime?_ Is all she can think. _He was right behind me, this shouldn't be happening. Where is Jaime?_ But Jaime doesn't come. Jaime doesn't come to save her this time, and she can't get away. She screams when the ruffian spears into her........

 

She shot up in the bed, panting. The room she was in was filled with sunlight, dappling the fine silk bed-sheets. She looked around in wonder. She'd never seen anything like the strange open-walled design, yet at the same time she felt like she should know it. The nightmare still clung to her like a second skin, and for a moment as she ruminated on it, the room seemed to darken and grow colder. She wasn't sure where she was. When she was. She wasn't even sure what her name was. Her first instinct was 'Amber', but that didn't feel right, at all. She frowned. There was still a strange sensation of a dark fog sliding through her mind. Who was she? As she moved to look around, a sudden stab of pain in her shoulder distracted her from her thoughts. She looked down and saw bandages. Before she could process this new information, a door opened and closed quietly and she turned towards the sound.

“Moira?” There was a strangely short but attractive man with long blonde hair and a short beard standing in the doorway. He was carrying a tray of food, which he set on a table near the door before he turned to her once more. He seemed … familiar. She remembered crying out for someone named Jaime in her dream. Was this him? She wanted to ask him something, but she can't remember what. Her tongue feels thick, and she can't speak. Instead she just watched him with wide, scared eyes, and her hands were shaking slightly.

The strange man comes closer, moving cautiously, speaking softly. “Moira?” he asks again. That must be her name. It feels familiar, too. “Are you alright?”

“Is that my name? Moira?” She asks.

He nods. He seems tired.

“Are you Jaime?” his face falls, but she doesn't understand why.

“My name is Fili.” _Fili_. That sound strikes a cord inside her and makes her feel warm all over. He's watching her closely, as if he is hoping for a reaction. But he must not get what he's looking for, because he sighed and his blue eyes look sad.

“You need to eat. But first I need to change your bandages, if you'll allow me this time.”

Her brow furrowed. “This time?”

He ignored that. “Will you let me help you?” He asked beseechingly. His face was open and his eyes were glistening with unspoken emotion. For some reason, she can't help but trust him. She nodded.

He moved slowly but with purpose, moving a chair into position by the bed, and gathering supplies that were apparently stored around the room. When he had the supplies ready, he came and sat in the chair, motioning for her scoot closer. She did. His fingers were gentle and sure as they slid over her flesh to remove the bandage, and for a moment she had the strange thought that she knows those hands very, very well. He winced when the wound beneath came into view. She looked down at the ugly puncture mark, and blinked when she saw a quick flash of pushing aside a brown-haired man and an arrow sprouting from her chest.

“Did the soldiers do that to me?”

Fili's eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly, but the expression in their sapphire depths was unreadable. She found herself spellbound by those eyes. He returned to his work, not looking at her. He gently cleaned the wound and rubbed a salve into it. 

She winced.

“Sorry,” He murmured, and he really did seem apologetic about the pain. “You need it to heal.”

“I figured.”

As he placed a fresh flat bandage on the wound, and started to wrap long linen straps around her body to hold it in place, he asked her, “Do you want to tell me what you remember?”

She didn't know why she told him. He was a stranger, really. Except something told her that he wasn't. And she wanted to work it out for herself, too, and maybe saying it out loud would make it make sense.

“I had a dream.” She collected her thoughts for a minute as he worked. He was bent over her chest so close that his blonde hair was right under her nose, and she wanted to run her fingers through it. It was distracting. “I was in the woods. It was nighttime. There were men there, five of them, soldiers, I think. They were surrounding me and taunting me ….” she paused. Tears started to pool in her eyes. “I remember calling for someone named 'Jaime'. I was so sure that he would come, that he would save me. But he didn't, and they... they –” Fili's hands had stopped and he looked up at her with worry and horror, like he knew what she was going to say and was afraid to hear it. She choked out the last words. “They raped me.”

“Oh, Moira,” Fili's voice was unbearably soft, and tinged with something like despair. The tears really started to fall then, and her vision blurred as the strange little man wrapped his arms around her, being careful not to jostle her wound. He whispered to her in a strange language she didn't recognize as his fingers stroked her hair gently. She breathed in his scent as she cried. He smelled of pine and tobacco and coffee, of metal and blood and fire, and it was so comforting that she didn't want to ever let go of him. Her sobs started to slow. She could hear the gentle _thud_ of his heartbeat. She realized with surprise that he's radiating heat, as if he has a horrible fever, but it seems … normal. This whole situation, being held by him, felt normal, felt _right_. His arms felt safe. _He feels like home_ , She thought, and she's sure that she knows him now. Why doesn't she remember?

“Listen to me, Moira,” he's saying, trying to shake her out of whatever haze she was in. “That's not how it happened. Jaime _did_ save you. They didn't,” he swallowed hard, and she can see the motion of his adam's apple bobbing up close from where her head is laid. He can't bring himself to say it. “It was just a dream.... It didn't really end that way.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you told me.”

She looked up at him, and really studied his face. _He's extremely handsome, even if he is weirdly short_. She found herself thinking. His features were strong, his eyes bright, his hair and beard the color of molten gold. The little mustache braids tipped with silver beads that framed his mouth were a bit unusual, but they drew even more attention to his full, kissable lips. And he still had his arms wrapped around her, even though she was no longer crying.

“I know you.” She finally said.

“Yes.”

“I know you well. Like, really well.”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Why don't I remember?”

A large hand stroked her face gently. “You're sick.” he said softly. His voice was no longer guarded. Those two words were so full of caring and worry that she was _certain_ , and she gave into her desires. She craned upwards to gently press her lips to his. His beard and mustache tickled pleasantly, and for a moment she reveled in it. But Fili felt stiff, uncertain, so she pulled away, blushing.

“I'm, I'm sorry!” she stuttered. “That just felt … right. I thought, maybe, that you and I were ….” she swallowed. “I'm sorry if I was wrong.”

“No, no,” he reassured her. “You're right, we are ... together.” He pursed his lips. “I just … You're not well, Moira. I can't take advantage of you when you're like this.”

“I'm not asking you to fuck me,” she said somewhat plaintively. She was mystified when he burst out laughing. Her jaw dropped and he just laughed harder at her expression. Something told her he hadn't laughed a lot lately. She still couldn't help but feel a little irritated and left out. She crossed her arms and glared at him, huffing.

“Mind letting me in on the joke?”

He struggled to subdue his mirth. “Sorry,” he said, waving at her with one hand and wiping tears from his eyes with the other. “That was the first time you've sounded like yourself in the last couple of days.” he said as he sat back down in the chair beside the bed.

 _“Days?”_ He sobered at her tone. “What exactly happened to me? And where am I?”

“Where do you think you are?”

She was annoyed that he answered her question with another question. But she thought about it anyway before answering. “I think Jaime and I were trying to get to a place called King's Landing.” She paused. “And it was in the south.”

He seemed disturbed by this. “Nothing else?” she shook her head. “Nothing about Rivendell or Lord Elrond? Do you remember living in Erebor, then? With Bilbo in the Shire?” She shook her head at each question he gave her. “Do you remember Cara? Or the Vikings?” She thought, and then shook her head again. He sighed and ran his hand through his thick golden hair. “Okay. King's Landing is in Westeros. Jaime is in Westeros. Do you remember anything else about Westeros besides his name, or that you were going to King's Landing?”

She could see that his worry was eating at him. She wanted to help him, so she thought hard. “There was …. a war?” she finally said. He nodded, and his eyes seemed to light up, so she continued to think. “He said we'd be safe there.” There was more, she could almost remember it, it was like half-formed smoke dancing around the corners of her mind. But when she reached for it, it vanished. It was very frustrating.

“I'm sorry.” she finally said. He looked at her then and smiled a soft little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His large hands enveloped hers, and once again she noticed how warm he was.

“It's not your fault, love.” He lifted her hands to his mouth, kissing the back of first one, and then the other. “I know you're trying.” He released her hands then and walked to the table by the door, retrieving the tray of food. “You need to eat.” he said authoritatively, setting it down on her lap.

She looked at the tray of vegetables and fruit, and try as she might she just couldn't find it appetizing. “I'm sorry there's no meat,” Fili was saying. “If it wasn't for the Orcs, I'd send Kili hunting, but I think it might be too dangerous right now.” She nodded as if she had understood what he had said. Which she didn't.

“Eat.” he urged her. Since it seemed like he was going to stand there and watch her until she did, she choked it down. Her stomach felt hollow, but she didn't feel any urge to eat either. He was probably right, she should probably eat even if she didn't feel like it. So she forced herself, and when the tray was mostly empty she stopped. He smiled at her, nodding approvingly, and moved to take the tray from her lap.

Suddenly Fili leaned down and brushed his lips to hers. “I love you,” he breathed against her lips, in a whisper full of pain, and then he was gone, hurrying from the room before she could respond. She heard a click when the door closed, locking her in.

~0~0~0~

Fili sagged against the door to Moira's chambers. He squeezed his eyes shut. Three days of this. Three days. At least this time she hadn't attacked him, but it was hardly reassuring when this time she didn't seem to remember anything except for one disturbing dream. The other times she had been convinced she was in one of her past lives, meaning she had a name and plenty of memories to go with it. It was quickly discovered that she still half-remembered him, because only Fili could talk her down if she became violent. Meaning her care mostly fell to him. He would have done it anyway, but having his brother's supportive presence would have been nice. But when it was hard to predict how she'd react, it wasn't worth the risk.

Today, though …. she had been almost childlike, too innocent and unknowing. Of anything. It was like her mind was being slowly emptied. Elrond was compassionate and offered to care for her, but had no explanation. It terrified Fili. He was watching her disappear before his very eyes. _Is this what Uncle Thorin felt, watching Thrór go mad?_ He couldn't help but wonder.

His eyes were still shut, and he was still holding the food tray, when he heard soft Elven footsteps approach. The fact that he heard them at all meant that they were attempting to be noisier than usual so as not to startle him. He appreciated the gesture. Fili opened his eyes and craned his neck upwards to see which Elf had approached him. Elrond's steward gave him a sad smile.

“How is she today?” Lindir asked him.

“Worse, I think. But less violent.”

“Small mercies, I suppose.” The Elf gently took the tray from him.

“I'd rather she be violent.” Fili responded.

Lindir's brow winkled slightly. “Lord Elrond assures me that he is searching the archives for a way to help her.”

Fili grunted. “Whatever is happening to her is not of Middle-Earth. I doubt there's anything in the archives that would be helpful.”

“Lord Elrond believes otherwise.” The Elf's voice was soft, calm and comforting. Fili wanted to scream at him. But he knew that Lindir was trying to help, that raging at him wouldn't be fair. Not to mention likely to damage the always-fragile relationship between Dwarves and Elves. So he controlled himself. If Fili should be angry with anyone, it should be with Mahal, for making a woman so cursed be his One. But he couldn't bring himself to be truly angry with his Maker. Despite everything, Fili still loved her with all his heart. Maybe it was more a curse than a gift, but it was what it was.

They heard a commotion then, and they both turned towards the sound. Bilbo came sprinting up the nearby stairs, panting. 

“Fili, he's here.” Bilbo gasped out. “Gandalf's here.”

Before he even thought about it, Fili was running, pushing past Bilbo and racing down the stairs. Bilbo came after him. At the bottom of the stairs, Fili stopped, when he realized he hadn't asked where Gandalf was. Bilbo pointed. “The courtyard on the other side of Rivendell.”

Ah. That was why Bilbo was panting. He'd ran the whole way to tell Fili the wizard had arrived.

“Bilbo, will you find my brother and Tauriel?”

The Hobbit nodded in response. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” So Bilbo and Fili hurried in opposite directions, until he came to the courtyard that he had first entered Rivendell, so long ago. This time it was Fili that came down the stairs to greet Gandalf, not Lindir. Although he moved with hurried purpose instead of Elvish grace. Below him, Gandalf was conversing in quick Elvish with two Elves that Fili didn't recognize, and a cleaned-up Strider was standing beside the gray wizard. Fili had hardly seen him at all in the last few days.

“Gandalf!” Fili called as he hurried down the stairs.

“Ah, Fili!” Gandalf turned towards him and smiled, but it seemed to Fili that the smile was tight and worried. “Where is she?”

Fili stopped on the steps, so that he stood only a little shorter than Gandalf. “You know?”

“I've been …. made aware.”

Fili glanced towards Strider, wondering if the Ranger was the one who informed Gandalf about Moira's condition. The wizard, of course, seemed to know what he was thinking. “No, it wasn't Aragorn who told me.”

Fili couldn't resist a dig at the Ranger. “Moira calls you Strider, Elrond calls you Estel, and Gandalf calls you Aragorn. Just how many names do you have?”

Strider-Estel-Aragorn seemed unfazed by the question. “A fair few. Aragorn is my true name, if you must know. Aragorn, son of Arathorn.”

“Good for you.” Fili turned back to Gandalf. He didn't care right now if the strange Ranger _was_ the heir to the throne of Gondor. He only cared about Moira. Everything else could be addressed later. “Do you know what's going on? Do you know the truth about her?” Fili addressed Gandalf.

“I know more than some, and less than others.”

Fili snorted. “Is now really the time for riddles?”

“No.” Gandalf was somber. “I think it's time that we meet with Elrond and discuss what is happening, so that hopefully, we can come up with a plan.”

Relief washed over Fili. It was about damn time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to tease you guys with that ending. This chapter was going to be longer. First I wanted to have this out on Wednesday, and then Friday, and the story and characters were just not cooperating. And my muses suck, they are having me write scenes out of order again (did you know that I had most of Chapter 13 written while I was still working on 6 and 7? it's like a movie in my head that won't leave until I get it down, and it doesn't matter to the little movie-muses in my brain that ITS THE WRONG CHAPTER). Also, writing Elrond is hard. Like really hard. Writing Elves other than Tauriel takes me forever because they are so old and wise and inscrutable. Ending the chapter here is my way of avoiding that for a little while longer because I'm horrible. I am truly, truly sorry.


	29. Recklessness or Necessity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel and Legolas reconnect. And the beginnings of a plan start to come together. But is it a good plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Elves are fucking killing me. This chapter ended up being all Elves so hopefully it'll be good practice and maybe I won't have as much trouble later on. This chapter ended up really short and it still took me FOREVER to write. Also Tauriel and Legolas kind of took over the first part. I felt like they had unfinished business that needed to be worked out before we could go forward. I considered making this chapter longer but you guys are already waiting for an update and I felt bad. But remember how I kept saying that updates were going to slow down? And they never did? Well they finally are. I can't keep up the manic pace I've had all summer and I don't want to get burned out.  
> When I posted the last chapter, I forgot to congratulate my reader **LovingBOBThePacific** (on ff.net), who gets 10 nerd points for finding the Game of Thrones quote that was hidden in Chapter 27. The quote was “Only death pays for life.”  
>  Here on A03, **QueenoftheQuill** made a Filra background, which I have to say is **way** better than mine was! I freaking love it! Thank you, QueenoftheQuill! http://imgur.com/a/Rc01k
> 
>  **Sindarian Words:**  
>  mellonin = my friend

Tauriel wandered the gardens of Imladis, lost in troubled thoughts. Fili reported that Moira's condition continued to worsen, and there seemed to be little they could do about it. Worse, Tauriel could not even visit her and appraise her well-being herself. Fili she still half-remembered, which was only natural. Some days Moira would tolerate Bilbo or Kili's presence, but she seemed to react badly to Elves in particular. Which hinted at some unknown conflict with her kind in one of the many worlds which Moira had resided in. Not that there were likely to be any answers forthcoming, for the time being at least. Moira herself did not seem to know why she felt the way she did.

Tauriel could not help but feel a deep sense of protectiveness towards the human woman. The Elf knew that some of her feelings came from guilt. Despite Moira's assurances that she did not blame her in the least for her former King's vile actions, Tauriel knew that she bore at least some of the blame. The sickness that lay on the Greenwood had been affecting Thranduil's mind for some time. Tauriel had noticed it in earnest just over a century before the Company of Dwarves and one human had stumbled into her forest, but it was likely that the sickness had been festering for much longer. Still, Tauriel was only a lowly Sylvan Elf, and although she had shared her concerns with Legolas, it had not been her place to do more.

Or so Tauriel had felt at the time. She no longer held that belief. All that it took for the triumph of evil, after all, was for good people to do nothing. And Tauriel had never been an advocate of doing nothing, of hiding away in safety and blindly hoping that evil would just conveniently disappear from the world. Tauriel was not an elfling hiding under the blankets and pretending that the monsters in the dark would disappear if she closed her eyes. No, Tauriel faced those monsters and let them know in no uncertain terms that they were not welcome. Which made her ignoring Thranduil's sickness all the more unforgivable.

But Tauriel thought that more than guilt motivated her desire to connect with Moira. Despite outward appearances, she believed they had much in common. They were both exiles, in a way, unlikely to see their homes again. They both loved a Dwarf Prince, despite knowing that their feelings were ill-advised at best, or outright forbidden at worst. If Moira returned to the Mountain, she was likely to still feel alienated there, as Tauriel herself sometimes did. She hoped that she could help Moira with the transition. Tauriel had lived beneath the stone for near two years now. It had not been easy at first, and sometimes it still was not. But perhaps together, they could build a new life in Erebor, a way to be happy with their _entire_ lives, not merely with the men that they loved.

Now that Tauriel was aware of the truth of Moira's strange existence, she had another reason to feel both sympathy and kinship with the wayward Ranger. 150 years was a mere blink in the life of an Elf, but it was likely that Moira felt herself immeasurably old. It was not for her kind to bear the burden of such long life, and even worse, she could not reside in the same world for it's duration, but was constantly forced to reinvent herself. And then there was still the matter of this fell sorcerer … Tauriel held back an involuntary shudder that threatened to overtake her. It was no wonder that Moira had such a tentative purchase on reality.

And of course the weapon that Moira had sworn her to secrecy about. Tauriel still felt its weight, heavier than it should be, hidden at the bottom of the small bag she carried with her. Even in Imladis she kept it with her for safe-keeping. Moira had promised to reevaluate when they got to Rivendell, and Tauriel hoped that she would tell the others. But now she was in no condition to be making decisions of any kind, if she even remembered sending Tauriel to dig it up from its hiding spot at Weathertop. The very place that Moira had first awakened in Middle-Earth, although she hadn't told the others that detail. Perhaps, in light of Moira's current condition, she should take matters into her own hands. Perhaps it was time to come clean.

“Tauriel.” a familiar voice pulled her from her musings.

The words 'my prince' were on the tip of Tauriel's tongue, but she held the title back. Legolas was not her prince anymore. She was exiled from the Woodland Realm forever. Erebor was her home now. She turned, acknowledging him with his name instead.

“Legolas.”

The Prince of the Greenwood looked uncertain, but came closer anyway. “I have been trying to speak with you for days.”

Tauriel arched an auburn eyebrow at that. “Have you?”

“You were always with … him.” He couldn't seem to bring himself to say her betrothed's name.

“His name is Kili.”

“Yes. Kili.” He looked hesitant, indecisive. Tauriel had rarely seen him look so unsure of himself, even when he was pining for a love she could not give him. An awkward silence settled over them. Tauriel was not quite sure what Legolas was expecting of her, so she kept silent, waiting. His blue eyes lingered over the thick braids framing her face, the evidence of both Kili's love and of her own people's rejection. Finally he spoke. “Are you happy? With him? With Kili?”

“Yes.” Her lips unconsciously twisted into a fond smile. “Kili makes my heart sing as it never has before.”

It was true. Kili, and indeed most of his kin, was full of life in a way that most of her kind was not. Perhaps it was the gift of mortality itself that made it so. Knowing that life was short and precious made them determined to wring every possible moment of joy and pleasure and warmth from an unforgiving world, until they fairly overflowed with delight and laughter. They were full of vim and verve and vigor, and truly _**lived**_ every moment. Dwarves fought with a fury and fierceness that could not be matched, drank oceans-worth of ale and mead, ate wagons-full of meat in a joyous (if not well-mannered) orgy of flavor, laughed often and loudly from deep in their bellies, and made love like it was their last night alive. And her Kili was the brashest, most reckless of them all, laughing in the face of death and defeat and forcing life to submit to him. While her own people hid away from the world, growing ever sadder and more frigid with each passing year. Elf she may be, but perhaps Tauriel was never meant to live forever. She could never be as cold as Thranduil was. The light inside of her still burned hot, and it had responded to Kili's natural joviality almost instantly. Even as she had insulted him and refused his request for a dagger against the spiders in Mirkwood's darkened paths, something had drawn her to him and stolen her breath away. Perhaps this was always meant to be.

Legolas nodded. “I am glad. That is all I wish for you, mellonin.” Tauriel's heart felt suddenly lighter. But still, she felt the need to test him. They had not parted on good terms after the battle.

“Are you truly?”

“Yes.” Legolas turned away from her inquiring gaze then, looking out over a small pond nearby. “It is true, there was a time that I had hoped for more between us. But you have made your wishes clear, and if your heart truly lies with the Dwarf, then I would not wish to lose our friendship over it.” A note of pain entered his voice. “Especially as your time in Arda will be shorted by your love for him. I will not have centuries to make amends.”

Ah. He still mourned her choice of a mortal, moreso than her refusal of him. That had been the crux of their argument after the battle. To love a mortal was considered a reckless waste of life among their kind, and both of their emotions had been raw then. There had been much Elvish blood split, many immortal lives cut cruelly short. The pain had made them both cruel, spitting insults and hurtful words back at the other until he had left in a huff. Tauriel was glad that would not be the last time she spoke with him. She came to stand beside him.

“The consequences are great, I will admit. But so are the rewards. They live as we do not, with a passion that our race rarely exhibits. And they love just as intensely. It is … exhilarating.”

There was silence before Tauriel thought of another tactic to explain her feelings to her friend. “How do you know Strider?”

“He is my friend.”

“So you no longer shun mortals then.”

“I am not my father, Tauriel. I left the Greenwood for a reason.”

“No, you are not. I did not mean to imply so.”

She waited for Legolas to acknowledge her before she continued. When he gave her the barest hint of nod, she did so. “You will lose him one day. You will have to bury him. You may even be there when he passes from this world.”

Legolas's voice was soft when he answered. “Yes.”

“And yet, you still call him friend. You still cultivate that connection, even knowing it will one day bring you pain?”

“Yes.” There is a glimmer in Legolas's blue eyes as he met her hazel ones, as if he knew what she was going to say.

“Because knowing him in the meantime is worth it?”

He didn't answer right away. He tilted his head away from her and looked out over the calm water of the pond. The sunlight glinted across it and made it glow. The silence stretched for long moments. “I understand.” he finally said.

Tauriel smiled. She decided to change to a happier topic than the inevitable demise of his friend. “Kili and I are to be wed, this coming Durin's Day.” She told him.

He looked surprised. “So soon?”

Tauriel laughed. “He is mortal, remember? We have little time, by Elven reckoning at least. I would not waste a moment of it.”

Legolas smiled then, and she was surprised to see that it was not a sad smile. “I suppose a two-decade long courtship would not apply. Not if you do not wish to be marrying an gray-bearded old man.” He teased. It had been years since he had teased her in that brotherly fashion, not since his feelings toward her had changed.

Tauriel smiled broadly. “Kili is still quite young for a Dwarf. 20 years would not make him old.” After a heartbeat, she decided to tell him the true reason for the rushed marriage. Or rushed by Elven standards, in any case. She wanted to see his reaction. If Legolas truly wanted a renewal of their friendship, he would be happy for her. “But if we want children, while he is still in his prime …..” She let the sentence hang.

He nodded. “I suppose that makes sense.” After a pause he said something that Tauriel did not expect. “That would make the blonde one your brother.”

Tauriel gave Legolas a quizzical look. “Yes. We get along quite well, if that was your concern.”

“What of Thorin?”

Tauriel laughed again. “He had … his reservations, although he was quite overruled by his sister.”

“Oh?” Legolas sounded intrigued.

“Did you think the sister of Thorin Oakensheild and the mother of Kili and Fili would be anything _but_ formidable?” The red-head challenged the prince. “I quite enjoy Dis, actually.”

“I am happy that you are building a family for yourself again, even if it is a strange one. After we lost your parents, I feared you would never open your heart to anyone.”

“So did I, for time.”

“But I worry.”

“You would not be yourself if you did not.”

“Especially this matter of Fili's Ranger. Some of the servants here in Rivendell are whispering, Tauriel. They say she is cursed.”

“Perhaps she is.” Tauriel did not see reason in denying the obvious.“But she is Fili's beloved, which makes her my sister in this 'strange family', as you call it. I owe her my life, if you'll recall. And both of us owe her recompense, on another matter.” Legolas winced as he was reminded of his father's crime, but Tauriel continued. “I will do whatever I must to defend her, as she defended me on Ravenhill.”

Legolas looked troubled. “There is evil growing in the world Tauriel. Fell creatures are creeping forth with more brazenness than they have had in an age. There are whispers …. I fear your friend has been touched by this darkness.”

Tauriel said nothing. She would not betray Moira's trust, not even to Legolas. Not yet. Not until she was convinced that it was an absolute necessity. For a time they just watched the sunlight reflect across the still water, dragonflies flitting about in the lazy afternoon breeze, until Tauriel said goodbye to her old friend. She wished to find her lover and tell Kili again just how much he meant to her. 

~0~0~0~

“It is good to see you, mellonin.” The Lord of Rivendell ushered the gray wizard into his study. The elegantly-carved desk was covered in scrolls and ancient parchments in various languages, the evidence of his efforts these past days on Moira's behalf. Elrond now carefully gathered the ancient papers up and set them safely to the side. He went to a nearby table and poured a drought of red Elvish wine into two glasses.

Gandalf folded his tall frame into one of the open-backed chairs and took the offered glass. “And you, old friend, although I do wish it were under happier circumstances.”

Elrond circled to the other side of the desk and sat before he answered. “Then you are already aware of the poor girl's condition?”

“Yes.” Gandalf's voice was solemn. “It was the Lady Galadriel who sent me here, and she believes that there is more than Moira's fate in the balance. She believes that whatever is hunting her may change the face of Middle-Earth itself.”

Elrond arched an eyebrow at the wizard. “That is sobering news indeed, old friend.” The Elf took a sip of his wine, as if waiting to see if the old wizard would have more information to disclose. When he did not, Elrond spoke.

“There is more than one magic affecting her, Mithrandir. I believe that these powers warring within her may be the cause for the flight of her senses. It is too much for her mortal mind to bear. That, combined with many lifetimes of memories that she was not meant to have ...” The Elf-Lord hesitated for just a moment, before continuing. “You are aware that she hails from outside of Arda?”

The wizard nodded. “I have always known that she came from another world. However, I did not realize her origin was quite so … spectacular.”

“Indeed.” Elrond looked grim. “This entire situation is … truly unique.” The Elf-Lord sighed and pinned Gandalf with his piercing gaze. “But I believe I may have a solution to her current memory problem, if not her overall predicament.”

“Oh?” Gandalf set down the now-empty wine glass. “Well don't keep it to yourself!”

“An ancient spell to piece the fragments of her mind back together. But it is not without danger.”

The vagueness of his answer was making Gandalf feel annoyed, but such was the way of Elves. “And what is the origin of this spell?”

“To my knowledge, it has only been attempted once before. By Finwë.”

A chill ran through Gandalf. “You don't mean...?”

“Yes.” Elrond's voice was solemn and his lips set into a hard line. “When he attempted to bring Míriel back to him after the birth of Fëanor.”

“Finwë's attempt failed, I'm sure you're aware.”

“Of course. But I don't see what other course we could take. Moira will continue to deteriorate, and if the increase of Orcs near our borders are any indication, that is not the only danger she will be facing in the coming days. And now, you tell me this is about something beyond her, that Middle-Earth itself may be in danger. Our list of options grows thin.”

Gandalf sat back further into the chair, feeling the weight of his many centuries in Arda at this point. “Who will do it then?”

Elrond arched an eyebrow at him, and a note of amusement and affection entered his tone as he spoke to the wizard he had known for a millenia. “I would think that would be obvious, old friend. This spell was created by a husband desperate to repair the damaged mind of his beloved wife, after all. More than that, it must be someone who Moira trusts implicitly, even in her current state.”

Gandalf harrumphed. “There's a flaw in your plan. Fili has no magic.”

“I'm quite aware of that. Between the two of us we should be able to re-work the parameters of the spell. But it _must_ be Fili who enters her mind.”

“Considering the danger of this endeavor, I think it best that I examine her myself before we make any hasty decisions.” Gandalf stood.

Elrond rose as well, moving more smoothly than the old wizard could manage. “Whatever you think is best, Mithrandir.”

Gandalf continued to talk as he moved towards the door. “I have sent Fili to gather his brother and Tauriel. I must speak with Bilbo as well. Fili has informed me that Moira has been wintering in the Shire, so our Hobbit has seen more of her than any of her other friends these past years. We must all share what we know before we reach any definitive conclusions.”

If one wasn't aware of the muted reactions of Elves, they might have missed the note of surprise that entered the Elf-Lord's voice. “What do you hope to gain by speaking with her companions?”

“I do not know yet.” Gandalf was dismissive of Elrond's surprise. “Considering the strangeness of her circumstances, I think it wise to attempt to gather whatever scraps of intel we can before making such a perilous attempt. Honestly, mellonin, I did not expect such haste from you. And Saruman believes _**I**_ am the reckless one!” Gandalf attempted to lighten the mood with a joke. Which might have worked with Dwarves, but Elrond would not be distracted. He did not even crack a smile as he placed the long, thin fingers of his pale hand on the door in front of Gandalf, stopping him from leaving.

“Mithrandir, a moment.” His fair face was serious, and the flashing expression in his starlight-gray eyes betrayed his age at that moment. “What you call reckless haste, I call necessity. More Orcs are gathering on our borders, and there is a bounty on her head, one which specifies she be taken _alive_. Rivendell has already lived through two sieges. I will not send her out into the world with her mind so addled. That would be a death sentence, and I am not cruel. But neither can I risk the lives of those in Imladis that I have vowed to safeguard. She cannot stay in Rivendell forever.”

Gandalf closed his eyes in worry and took a deep breath before he opened them again. “Understood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the history of Finwë and Míriel that I referenced. They were the parents of Fëanor, the Elf that created the Silmarils that everybody was crazy about back in the First Age. When he was born, his mother Míriel gave all of her life-force and essence to him, leaving her essentially hollow. It's phrased that “her body and her spirit were consumed”, and she wanted to die. She went to Lorien (NOT Galadriel's Lothlorien, but a beautiful wood of the same name in Valinor) to rest, but instead of regaining her strength, her fëa left her body and went to the Halls of Mandos. But her body did not wither, remaining essentially comatose but spiritless. For a long time Finwë mourned for her and visited her comatose body, until he could bear it no longer and stopped. He eventually remarried, and was the only Elf EVER to do so. It ..... didn't end well.  
> Anywho, Míriel was the first Elf to choose to die, which was shocking at the time. This all took place in the blessed land of Aman.  
> That's the cannon. For my purposes, Finwë created a spell to try to retrieve her while she was laying unconscious in the wood. Of course, it didn't work, and her fëa fled anyway. Yes, I'm sending Fili inside Moira's broken head to piece her back together. You thought the Mirkwood chapter was trippy? That has nothing on what's coming. And yes it's partially an excuse to explore her past some more, but also because I _really really_ wanted Fili to see it! And yes, it's going to take me a LONG TIME to write. Sorry.  
>  Also, I did not invent the sieges that Elrond was referring to. The first happened during the War of Elves and Sauron, and the second one by Angmar sometime between the years 1356 and 1409 of the Third Age, and was during a war between Arnor and Angmar. You can find out more on tolkiengateway dot net if you are interested. I do a lot of research there.


	30. Plans and Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty short and mostly setting up the next one(s).
> 
>  **Khuzdul Words:**  
>  Durinultarg = Durin's beard  
> gimlelul = my brightest star
> 
>  **Sindarian Words:**  
>  melethron = lover

“You want Fili to _what_?” Kili exclaimed in shock. He was the first to speak after Gandalf and Elrond had explained their plan. If it could be called a plan. _More of hare-brained scheme, really_ , Fili mused.

Kili, Fili, Tauriel, and Bilbo were gathered around a small round table in the library. Across from them sat Gandalf, puffing on his pipe, and Lord Elrond. The Elf-Lord sat with his fingers steepled, his sharp blue eyes taking in everything before them.

“I believe you heard Lord Elrond just fine, Kili.” Gandalf said from around the stem of his pipe. His voice was light and calm, but his blue eyes were serious.

Fili ran his hands through his long, thick hair, and sighed. “Is it dangerous?”

“No more dangerous than just letting her be.” Lord Elrond answered instead of Gandalf. His unnerving eyes were leveled unblinkingly on Fili now. “She's not going to recover on her own. I believe she will worsen if we do nothing, to such a degree that the damage to her mind may become irreparable. However, it could be dangerous for _you_.”

“What does that mean?” Kili asked unhappily.

“He could get lost.” Tauriel answered quietly.

“Yes, but what does that _mean_?” Kili demanded again.

Fili only half-listened to the ensuing argument. He certainly didn't hear the long-winded explanation that Elrond was going into.

“She would never agree to that.” Fili spoke softly now. “She values her privacy, and she's already had her mind violated in the worse way. If she could, she'd refuse.”

“You won't be violating her mind, Fili,” Gandalf gently reassured him. “You'll be putting her back together.”

Elrond cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of everyone at the council to him. “Nevertheless, it would be easier if she consented. Míriel was already permanently unconscious when Finwë attempted to bring her back from the darkness in her mind. She was already in a receptive state. If Moira fights you, it could damage you both.”

“That's it, there is _no way_ Fili is doing this.” Kili slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his objections.

“She does seem to trust me.” Fili ignored his brother's protests. “But that is a lot to ask of anyone. Particularly if she doesn't remember _why_ she trusts me.”

“What if something does go wrong?” Bilbo's worried voice finally joined the conversation. “Would you have a way to … I don't know, pull Fili out?”

Elrond didn't answer, and Gandalf didn't meet any of their eyes as he answered. “Perhaps.”

“That's not an answer!” Kili was getting red in the face now.

Tauriel placed a calming hand on Kili's shoulder. “Hush, melethron, let him speak.”

Gandalf harrumphed his thanks before continuing. “This spell has only been attempted once, and it was not successful. We are in uncharted waters. But again, and I cannot say this enough, this is the only option that has even a shadow of a chance.”

“What would I find, if I did do it?” Fili asked.

Gandalf blew a ring of smoke before answering. “There's no way to know. You could end up trapped in her memories. You could meet parts of her personality split into representations. You could be in a mirror of Rivendell or Erebor, with memories behind different doors. It may be very surreal and dream-like. It could be any of these things, or all of them, or something else entirely.”

“And what am I supposed _do_ once I'm in her mind?”

“I believe you will know when the time comes.”

“Oh, very helpful, Gandalf.” muttered Bilbo in exasperation. 

Kili nudged his betrothed. “Didn't you say you had something to share, gimlelul?”

The Elf-maiden's face colored slightly when Gandalf's hawk-like gaze turned to her. “I don't think it's of import right now.”

“But you said – ” Kili started to protest before she cut him off.

“That was before we heard Gandalf's plan.”

“It's Lord Elrond's plan, actually.” Gandalf coughed, as if he was passing the blame. Fili didn't like the sound of that. But what choice did he have?

“I'll do it.”

“Excellent. Fili, I'd like to examine Moira for myself, first.” Gandalf stood then, signaling an end to the meeting.

“Durinultarg.” Kili swore under his breath as he hurried over to his brother. “Fili, I don't like this.”

“Neither do I, little brother.” Fili wrapped him in a tight embrace. “But I'd do the same for you if you were in her place.”

~0~0~0~

“I should go in first,” Fili insisted. “Just in case she's violent again.”

Elrond nodded his consent. The first time Moira had woken up in a strange room, alone, she had broken the mirror above the vanity and hidden behind the door for Mahal knows how long. She had attempted to slit the throat of the first person to enter with the glass shard wielded as her weapon. It was a good thing Lindir was so tall, otherwise she might have succeeded. Fili had marveled that Elrond's steward still seemed to care about her condition after that. Lindir still frequently asked Fili about how she was doing, and Fili thought, tried to be comforting, although he wasn't very good at it. Fili supposed that dementia, madness, and any disease that might normally be considered age-related were something of a novelty for Elves. But more than that, Lindir seemed a mother-hen type, and he tried to make sure that Fili ate and did not neglect his own needs in his worry over Moira. Fili wasn't too appreciative, since he already had Kili and Bilbo pestering him to eat more and make sure he got some sleep. Which wasn't going to happen. The best he could do was lie in his bed and stare at the canopy.

Fili carefully opened the door and looked inside first. This time, Moira was standing at the balcony directly across from the door. She had an Elven robe made of some lavender-colored velvety material thrown over her nightgown today. It looked like she had taken the time to brush her hair as well. Maybe she was feeling better. Since she was in his direct line of sight, Fili felt no apprehension about going inside, but he still moved carefully.

“Moira?” Fili called out cautiously. He approached her slowly, leaving the door slightly ajar but closed enough to give them some privacy for a few minutes.

She turned and smiled a wide, dazzling smile, the kind that Moira rarely gave anyone. “Fili!” she exclaimed happily. “I'm glad you're back. I was getting bored.”

“You remember me?” Fili tried to keep the surprise out of his voice, as well as keep his hopes from raising. He failed on both accounts, and he was sure she could see it.

“Yes, but ... from earlier today.” She looked apologetic. “Not from before. I'm sorry.”

Fili should have expected as much. Still, it hurt. He ignored the pain in his chest to try to give her a reassuring smile. “That's alright, lass.” He was about to ask how she was feeling, when she interrupted him.

“Are you Scottish?” she asked.

“I – what? No, I'm a Dwarf. Wait, what's Scottish? Did you remember something?”

“Um. Uh. I don't know.” She looked as confused as he felt. “You called me 'lass', and that was the first thing that came to mind. Maybe the Scottish talk like you? I'm pretty sure Scottish is a type of people. Also, you shouldn't call yourself a dwarf. You aren't _that_ short. I've seen shorter. At least,” her face screwed up in concentration. “I _think_ I have.”

Fili spent a moment trying to untangle the mess of befuddling statements, trying to decide which to address first, and then settled on dismissing it all. “There's a few people here who would like to meet you. They might be able to help you.”

Moira brightened visibly. “Okay!”

“There's just one thing. One of them, you may not like. You might have an … instinctual reaction to him.”

“Ummm, okay.”

“But we need to trust him. And I promise, I'll be right here beside you, okay la – Moira?”

She looked uncertain, but then she walked up to him and grasped his hand in one of her much smaller ones, interlacing their fingers. “Alright. I trust you, Fili.”

Fili's heart fluttered. He smiled up at her, and was surprised when she leaned down and gently pressed her lips to his. It was a gentle, sweet, chaste kiss. She seemed almost shy; she didn't remember him, after all. Fili tried to ignore his desire to deepen the kiss. He wanted to move cautiously, so as not to scare her. But when her tongue quickly darted between his lips and then retreated, he completely forgot about that plan. Her hand was still tightly clutching his, and he was loath to let it go. He reached up with his free hand and held her neck gently, flitting his tongue against the rose-petal of her mouth as he did so. When her lips parted he took the invitation and glided inside. Her other hand fluttered to his chest as her tongue rose to meet his, gently caressing. Fili groaned as he softly worked his mouth on hers. Kissing her came as naturally as breathing, and he longed to taste more of her. He wanted it with every ounce of his being. But now was not the time. When he pulled away, Fili was gladdened to see that she looked slightly dazed. There was no fear in her eyes, just desire. Her dark pink lips glistened, and a contented sigh came from them. His large hand was still holding her neck, and he ran his thumb along her jawline now, savoring the feel of her smooth, lightly tanned skin under his calluses.

“As much as I enjoyed that, lass, now is not the best time.” he whispered. He peeled her hand from his chest, planting a gentle kiss to her wrist as he did so. Suddenly she looked sad. “I wish I could remember you.” her voice was soft.

Fili gave her a grin that was carefully calculated to appear cavalier and unworried. “Well, that's why I bought Gandalf and Elrond.”

They were still holding hands when Gandalf entered, alone at first, as Fili had asked. When Gandalf's keen blue eyes swept over them, they took on a merry twinkle which told Fili that the gray wizard knew exactly what they had been doing.

“Hello, my dear.” he addressed Moira.

She cocked her head to the side as she appraised him. “You seem familiar.”

“Moira, this is Gandalf.” Fili introduced him to her.

“Are we friends?” Moira asked the wizard.

“I surely hope so!”

“Fili says you can help me remember.”

“I am going to try, my lady. But we will need the help of another.”

“Fili told me.” Fili felt a tenseness sweep through her body then. She was likely contemplating what he had meant by his warning. “Okay, well I guess we're not gonna get any younger. Bring him in, I guess.”

Moira took a step back when Elrond swept into the room, an expression of fear passing over her face. “You're an Elf.” Fili squeezed her hand in reassurance, but couldn't help frowning. She remembered Elves but not Dwarves?

“Yes,” Elrond was saying. “I am. But I am not your enemy.”  


She was studying Elrond intently. The Elf stood regally. But unusually still, even for an Elf, Fili couldn't help noticing. He meet Moira's eyes and looked placidly back, unwavering. Finally, Moira spoke. “Your eyes aren't red.”

Elrond blinked. A very distinct “Uh,” actually slipped past his lips, which would have made Fili laugh under any other circumstances. He quickly composed himself though, and just responded with “No, they are not.”

After a heartbeat, Moira exclaimed “Okay then.” She released Fili's hand and plopped into a chair next to Gandalf. Elrond sent a questioning glance his way and Fili just shrugged. He doubted _she_ knew why she was saying the things she was saying. How was _he_ supposed to offer an explanation? The Elf seemed to understand, and glided to the chair opposite the wizard and human. Fili took up his position at Moira's side, sitting down as smoothly as he could manage under the circumstances. Without thinking, Fili's hand fell to rest on her knee. He realized what he had done when he felt her stiffen, but before he could withdraw she relaxed, giving him a soft smile that told him it was okay. His stomach flip-flopped a little at the sight.

It was Gandalf who took the lead in the discussion (again, as Fili told them it should be). Moira listened politely, but over and over her eyes strayed back to Elrond, watching him distrustfully. When the plan was revealed, Moira was incredulous. The shock on her face was plain. She wasn't hiding her emotions as well as she usually did.

“I … I need to think about this.” Moira stood and rushed to the balcony, gripping the railing tightly as she looked out over the lights of Rivendell. Fili watched her. She didn't even move like the woman he knew. _His_ Moira moved smoothly, confidently. _His_ Moira knew her body and knew she could kill with it. She knew how it would react and how far she could push it. She was a warrior, and it was reflected in every move she made, easily seen by any who had the eyes to see it. This … version … of his One was almost clumsy. The personality that had tried to slit Lindir's throat was closer to his Moira than this innocent child. Still, at the same time, it _was_ her. There was no doubt about that. Mahal, this was confusing.

“Give me a few minutes with her.” Fili didn't wait to hear what the wizard or the Elf might say in response. Instead he followed her to the balcony. He leaned against the railing that she was clutching desperately and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.

“Hey.” She greeted him without looking at him.

“You alright?” He asked gently.

She snorted. “Oh, sure. Who wouldn't be?”

Fili couldn't help the small smile that tugged the corners of his lips upwards, but the smile was wiped off his face with her next words.

“Fili … I think something terrible happened to me. I don't know if I want to remember.” Fili hadn't considered that Moira might not _want_ her memories back. From what little he knew of her past, he couldn't really blame her. But still, it hurt. Badly. A dull ache started to settle in his chest and he wondered if he'd feel it forever if he was deprived of his One in this most strange way. She was here beside him, but at the same time, she wasn't.

She turned her dark eyes to his now, and her face was more open and unguarded than he had seen it in a while. “But … I want to remember you. Us.” She took a deep breath. The ache in his heart was replaced with rising hope. “I don't think I like the Elf.”

Fili chuckled. “I don't always like him either, but he's a decent enough sort.” _Not like a certain blonde tree-fucking excuse for a King I could name_.

“I look at him, and I feel …. sick.”

“Do you know why?”

“No.” She paused, eyes unfocused as she thought. “But I also feel ashamed for feeling that way, like … like I know I shouldn't. Like something happened that wasn't his fault, and I know it's unfair to judge him for it, but … I also can't help it.”

Fili didn't know what to say, so he kept silent. She needed to work this out herself. After a moment, she took a deep breath.

“But if you trust him, I'll do it.”

Fili felt pride welling up at her bravery. It was easy for _his_ Moira to be brave. She knew that death would not last for her and that knowledge made her reckless. This Moira was just a girl in comparison, and she had no knowledge of her curse. Fili had advised against telling her, and letting her believe that it was just a memory problem affecting her. He didn't like keeping it from her, but how could they possibly explain something so complicated to someone with her wits so addled? He didn't even understand it himself! She was looking at him now, and Fili felt like he should say something.

“I swear that I will do my best not to let you down.” He held his hand out to her, and she took it, interlacing their fingers again. She smiled that uncharacteristically wide smile at him again. And Fili led her back into the room where their fates would be decided.


	31. Fragmented Mind, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long and trippy and I should probably put some serious Trigger Warnings on it, for attempted rape, sexual and physical abuse, and torture (well the torture is part II or later, but whatever). You've already heard about her past, and now Fili's in her brain, so ::shrugs:: Take a guess what he's going to see. This is your one and only trigger warning for the coming chapters in her brain. Also, this is definitely my longest chapter yet, and still, it's gonna take more than one chapter to get through. I wasn't intending for it to be so long, but as Tolkien says, the tale grew in the telling.

[](https://imgur.com/WYOfqPm)

Fili fell. He fell, colors and blurry images of faces and places racing past him as he plummeted downwards in a free-fall. There were sounds around him, voices, men and women, young and old, some whispering and some screaming, all blurring together into a roar of chaotic noise. Out of the deafening tumult of sound, he could detect fragments of sentences rising above the others, but he had no context for the words and did not know what they meant. Still, he heard them as he fell, a confusing, tumultuous sea of words and pain.

“Put her with the Kingslayer,” “Imperial troops have entered the base! Evacuate! Imperial troops –” “Get back here, you bitch!” “Remember where your loyalty lies – With House Lannister, not merely my brother.” A piercing, wordless scream, one that obviously had been ripped from a female throat – “It's not always easy being a human parent to an alien child. We have that in common.” “The angels are falling … all of them …” “SHEILD WALL!!!” “Touch my daughter again and I'll cut your cock off and shove it –” “You're taking your marching orders from a **_demon?!!_** ” “Your son is dead.” “We must get revenge for our father –” “I wish I had enough poison for the whole pack of you!” “What have you done, Ivar?” “The Seeker is not coming for you. You are mine.”

And suddenly there were no more colors or images or sounds, only blackness. Fili's feet hit the ground, and he bent his knees to try and absorb the shock and keep from losing his balance. He failed, and stumbled forward onto what felt like wet, grassy ground. Fili sat up and looked around, but all he saw was blackness. His ears detected a sound like running footfalls approaching, and he smelled the scent of pine trees after rain. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he saw he was in a dense forest. The moon above was only the barest sliver of waning light. He turned to the origin of the sounds, which was definitely someone running through the brush.

Suddenly, Moira burst through the thick brush. Her (still short) hair had twigs tangled in it and her clothing was stranger than any he'd ever seen. Her arms and face were scratched and cut from the branches of the trees, her strange clothing dirty and ripped. Her eyes were wild, crazed, panic written clearly on her face, and her breaths came in labored gasps. She tripped and fell to the ground, crying out.

“Moira!” He couldn't believe he had found her so quickly. But she didn't respond to his call, and Fili realized when she looked right through him that she couldn't see or hear him. Fili reached out for her, intending to help her up, to grab her shoulders and shake her, force her to acknowledge him, but his hands passed right through her. Like he was a ghost. He cursed.

“Of course, it can't be that easy.” He said aloud. Not that she noticed. For now, all he could do was observe.

Soldiers clad in leather and mail burst through the trees into the clearing. Moira struggled to get up and run. But it was too late. The one in the lead tackled her, bringing her back to the ground. Fili tensed, furious, wanting nothing more than to pummel this man, but knew that he couldn't change it. He had realized that he was in Moira's memories, and a memory had already happened.

“You're going to answer to the King in the North, you _spy_!” he spat.

“I don't know what you're talking about!” She protested, trying to push him off of her. She punched him (ineffectively). When the dark-haired man began to punch her back in retaliation, Fili tried to pull him off of Moira anyway, and growled in frustration when his hands went right through him as well. Fili watched helplessly, his rage building, until the surroundings began to melt away.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

Moira was on her knees now, in some kind of tent. Her face was bruised and bloody, one eye swollen shut, and she appeared to be fighting to stay conscious. Two guards stood on either side of her, and one had his hand heavily clamped on her shoulder, keeping her on the ground. The room was filled with Men dressed for war, and one older woman. There was a huge wolf, as massive as any Warg, standing docilely next to a young man wearing a simple crown of bronze and black iron. A young, dark-haired girl wearing a thin shift and clutching a stuffed animal flitted near the back of the tent, and Fili was incensed that these people would allow a child to see a woman that had been beaten so badly. Strangely, they all ignored the presence of the child, as if she wasn't even there. The apparent king addressed the shorter man beside him, the one who had attacked Moira.

“Did you have to beat her so savagely, Theon?”

The man he addressed – Theon – shrugged. “She resisted. Since when do you care about the health of Lannister spies?” Lannister. Fili remembered that name. Moira had said the first world she woke up in was a war zone, and a man named Jaime Lannister had protected her. This was Westeros, then. No wonder she wasn't fighting back. She didn't know _how_.

The king did not seem happy. “She's still a woman. And the Lannisters have my sisters, remember? I won't give them a reason to abuse them.”

“I'm not a spy,” Moira mumbled from the ground. “I don't know who you any of you people are.”

“She's lying.” the one who had attacked Moira – Theon, Fili reminded himself again – stated. “In the Iron Islands, we know how to make prisoners talk.” He leered at her. Fili's eyes narrowed. This one was dangerous. The young king, thankfully, shot him a look that silenced him, before turning to an older man with close-cropped hair and ice in his eyes.

“Lord Bolton, take her to see a maester, and have her wounds treated. Then put her in a cell. Make sure she's far from the other prisoners. I don't want her raped. In a few days, when she's healed somewhat and her mind is in better condition, I'll interrogate her.”

“Why not now?” Theon demanded. “The pain will _help_ get true answers.”

“She's passing out!” The king's anger burst forth now. “How can she answer a question if she can't hear or remember it? This is _your_ fault, Theon.”

Fili looked back to Moira. Sure enough, her head was indeed lolling to the side, and the edges of the entire room were slowly turning black, the blackness creeping forward to the center. He was in her memory, after all. The blackness consuming the scene must be a sign that she was losing the fight against unconsciousness.

The older man – Bolton – responded “All the pens are full, Your Grace. If you won't execute prisoners, we'll be dragging them around with us until winter comes and they starve.”

The young king considered for a moment. “Put her with the Kingslayer, then.”

Moira fainted then, and the tent disappeared into blackness.

**..............................................................................................................................................................**

Fili didn't see the healer, which they had called a 'maester'. He must have treated Moira while she was unconscious. When the blackness cleared again, Fili was standing outside of a wooden stockade pin. It was open to the elements, letting in the light, drizzly rain and turning the dirt under the straw bedding to mud. A wooden post in the middle of the stockade had two figures chained to it. One of them was Moira. Her chains were lighter than the blonde man beside her, and gave her more slack. Her wrists were manacled and chained to the post, but her ankles weren't, unlike the man's. Fili studied him for a moment. He had the look of someone noble, although it was hard to tell under all the dirt and grime. He was not in good condition, and had obviously been imprisoned in sub-par conditions for some time. He was bearded, but it was dirty and unkempt, like the rest of him. But under his dirty, matted hair, his emerald eyes shone with an intelligence that hadn't atrophied like his body.

“There you are.” the blonde man drawled as Moira began to rouse. “I was beginning to wonder if honorable King Robb was intending to chain me to a corpse for the rest of this war.”

“Wha?” Moira was still groggy. She jerked awake when she realized she was restrained, pulling hard on the chains. “What's going on? Who are you?” The fear in her voice seemed to make the man reconsider his attitude.

“Forgive my crude humor, my lady. I've been kept imprisoned in this stockade for many months now. I've had no one but surly guards to converse with, and I'm afraid as a result my manners have rusted somewhat.”

When she just watched the man warily, testing the strength of her chains, he took the lead in the conversation. “I'm Ser Jaime Lannister.” He seemed like he was trying to sound kind. “What's your name?”

“So this is him.” Fili said, and of course neither of them answered him. “You didn't tell me you were prisoners when you met.”

At first Fili was confused when Moira told Jaime that her name was “Amber.” But of course, Moira was the name she used in Middle-Earth, and Amber was the name she was born with. This was the first world she would visit, and from what little she had told him, there would be a steep learning curve.

The blonde man smiled. “That's a beautiful name, Lady Amber. Tell me, what did you do to anger our captors? No offense meant, but I'm quite sure that you aren't looking your best.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he repeated.

“The asshole-in-chief thinks I'm a spy. And the one called Theon beat the shit out of me.”

At first he looked stunned at her vulgar choice of words, before she mentioned Theon and his features hardened. “Damned Greyjoy whelp. That sounds like him, beating a helpless, scared woman to make himself feel like a man.”

“I don't know where I am.” Moira's – no, Amber's – voice was pitiful, and it tugged at Fili's heart. It was obviously affecting Jaime as well. “How did I get here? It doesn't make sense.”

“I don't know, my lady, but you're in the Westerlands. I'm not quite sure where. King Robb doesn't deign to share his battle plans with me, for some reason.” There was a biting edge of sarcasm in his voice as he said the last sentence.

“No, that can't be.” Moira/Amber shook her head, tears starting to fall from her one good eye. “Westeros isn't real, it's fictional. It's a story written by George R.R. Martin and made into a TV show on HBO. This has to be a crazy coma dream. Yes, that's it. I'm in a hospital right now, after the car wreck. That has to be it. You're not really here. This isn't happening.”

Jaime was peering at her in an odd way now. “That Ironborn son of a whore must have hit you quite hard. You're not making any sense. I assure you, as much as I wish I weren't here, sadly, I am. This _is_ really happening. But at least you aren't dealing with it alone. You have me.” Jaime gave her a wide smile that Fili was sure under normal circumstances would be dazzling. Fili got the feeling that this Jaime was used to women falling all over him. That thought distracted him for a moment, before the meaning of Moira's strange and panicked rant started to work itself out in Fili's mind.

“Wait, what do you mean Westeros is fictional? What's a TV show HBO?” Of course, Fili didn't get an answer.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

The scene melted again, and again Moira was standing in a tent before King Robb (as Jaime had called him). None of his advisers or lieutenants were present this time, except for a older human woman. Fili realized that the woman looked kind of like Robb. Although her hair was a dark red color instead of Robb's dark curls, they had the same ice blue eyes. The king's mother, perhaps?

“If I was a spy, don't you think I'd have a better story?” Moira was arguing.

“Perhaps.” King Robb responded. “Or you thought to prey on our chivalry by appearing helpless.”

Moira's annoyance was palatable and her tone sarcastic and confrontational. “Cause that's worked out _so_ well so far. Ask your maester, whatever his name is, about Theon's chivalry.”

Fili's eyebrows raised, and the King and his mother seemed similarly surprised at her forwardness. Her attitude made something occur to Fili. “They don't have Kings where you're from, do they?” he murmured as he watched the argument continue to unfold.

“I cannot risk releasing you right now.”

“So I'm just gonna be your prisoner forever?”

“Not forever. Just until I can verify the truth of your story, or until this war is over. One way or another.”

“So forever.” She was near tears at this point.

**...............................................................................................................................................................**

****

She was in the stockade again, but her face was healed. Fili noted with disapproval that she was also much skinnier. Some time must have passed, but Fili didn't know how much. She was crying, and Jaime was holding her, having somehow maneuvered around their chains to wrap his arms around her. “I can't believe I've been in here for months.”she was saying. “I'm so hungry. I'm cold and dirty and I stink.”

“I know, I know.” Jaime was whispering soothingly to her. “But don't worry, I'm sure I smell worse than you. I've been here much longer, after all.” He attempted a joke, but it barely coaxed a smile from her. Jaime was trying to keep her spirits up, Fili could see. Jaime was a solider and had accepted the risks of whatever war he was fighting. But what was happening to her was unjust and unfair, and he was doing his best for her under the dismal circumstances. Some primal part of Fili's brain told him he should be jealous of this man holding his One, but the larger part was just grateful that she wasn't going through this monstrous ordeal alone.

“Jaime, tell me about your home again. Tell me about Casterly Rock.” Fili could see that her request pleased the blonde knight. He smiled as he began, his green eyes becoming unfocused as he allowed his memories to take him away with her.

“It's beautiful, a huge castle carved directly into the golden rock of the cliff face, overlooking Lanisport and the Sunset Sea. When the sun sets, the cliff and castle shines yellow and orange, as if the entire structure is made of the gold found in the mines beneath it. Mines that have not run dry in thousands of years. The Rock is three times the height of the Wall and nearly two leagues across from east to west. It's practically a city in itself.

“The main entry is called the Lion's Mouth, and it's a massive natural cavern that's two hundred feet high. The steps carved into it are wide enough for twenty riders. Casterly Rock has it own docks, wharves and shipyards, just like Lanisport, and small longships can sail directly into some of the caverns carved by sea. On quiet mornings, the tide of the sea entering the caverns makes a sound like thunder. My ancestors are buried in the caverns beneath the Rock, in the Hall of Heroes, and one day my bones will rest there too.”

Moira sighed. “It sounds amazing. I'd like to see it one day.”

“I'd like to show it to you.”

**...............................................................................................................................................................**

The scene changed again, and Fili was surprised to see that this time they were outside. They had obviously escaped, and were comfortable enough to take a moment to clean themselves. They were side-by-side, washing grime and blood from themselves in a river, neither feeling safe enough yet to take the time for a full bath. Fili was surprised to see that Moira was much cleaner than Jaime. Did their captors allow her to bathe? There was a horse grazing nearby (stolen from Robb's camp, most likely).

“Thank you.” Jaime murmured. “I don't know how I would have gotten out without you.” That surprised Fili. _She_ had gotten _him_ out? That was more like the Moira he knew. Fili felt pride welling up from inside. Even then, she had the sparks of greatness, even if she couldn't see it.

“I just wish I didn't have to kill that guard. He was so young ….”

“The first kill is always the hardest.” Jaime comforted her. “It was him or us.”

“I know, I know. But he was just a kid. He reminded me of my baby brother....”

“You weren't the one that put that sword in his hand and dragged him to war. Robb Stark did. Now you're just doing what you have to in order to survive.”

Fili wondered why he hadn't seen the escape. Maybe a part of Moira's consciousness was aware he was here, and hadn't _wanted_ him to see it. He didn't know if that was an encouraging thought or not.

**...............................................................................................................................................................**

Fili wondered how much time was passing in the real world, because he watched a lot of Jaime and Moira's journey. They had to take a meandering route to avoid Northern soldiers sent out by King Robb to capture them. It seemed to Fili that he silently traveled with them on their journey for days, maybe weeks. He watched them huddle together for warmth when they couldn't risk a fire, watched as they looked for food, as they walked through burnt villages scattered with the bodies of dead civilians, and scavenged from abandoned homes. They found a peasant dress for Moira, so her strange clothing (which she had called 'blue jeans and a t-shirt') wouldn't make her stand out, and cleaner clothes for Jaime, although they didn't fit his tall frame very well.

Fili started to understand why Moira distrusted her own species so much. He had only seen such wanton destruction wrought by Orcs; Fili couldn't believe that Men had done these heinous things to their own kind. Worse yet, it soon became obvious that some of the atrocities were committed by the Lannister army, not only the Northerners. Fili remembered then how once Moira had told him that Dwarves were lucky that most of their wars were against Orcs, that they had never had to face the darkness that lurked in the hearts of their own kind.

**..............................................................................................................................................................**

Moira was surrounded by a circle of five soldiers, several of them with swords drawn, laughing and leering at her. Her fists were raised, ready to fight them, her eyes darting from one to another, but Fili could see that her stance was terrible. She didn't know what she was doing. He knew instantly that she had no chance against these men.

“I'm taking her first,” one of them declared, lunging at her, reaching for her with just his hands. If she had simply stepped to the side, his own momentum would have carried him forward and into the ground, Fili knew. But she didn't know that. She was too inexperienced at this point in time, and she tried to withstand his onslaught by punching him as he came at her. Her punches were pathetic, and Fili winced when the man inevitably bought her to the ground. She flailed underneath him, beating at his chest with her tiny, ineffectual fists, until he pinned her arms above her head with one large hand holding her wrists in a brutal grip.

“The Kingslayer isn't here to save you, whore,” he sneered at her. “But feel free to squirm as much as you like. I don't mind a bit of squirming.”

His other hand ripped at the bodice of her peasant dress, roughly manhandling her fragile breasts beneath it. The sound of Moira's cries of pain and fear made Fili charge the man, but once again he just passed through their bodies like he was nothing more than mist. “Mahal, please,” Fili pleaded to the empty air. His pleas were no more answered than Moira's were.

Her skirt was pushed up to her waist. The solider tried to force her legs open with one hand. She viciously kneed him in response. He cursed and punched her in the face. “You're just making it worse for yourself, girl.” He sneered, and then demanded that the other soldiers hold her down. One went to hold each leg at the ankle, and another her shoulders, tying her hands. The fifth stood back and pulled out his cock, stroking himself as he watched his companions attempt to subdue the girl. “Hit her harder.” he encouraged them, as the one who had taken Moira down started to undo the laces of his breeches.

“Noooo!” Moira was wailing. She was backhanded again, causing her lip to split and blood to leak down her chin.

Fili felt sick. Panic was raising in his throat, cutting off his attempts to breathe. Where was Jaime? This shouldn't be happening. Moira had said that Jaime Lannister had protected her, that she hadn't been raped here. This shouldn't be happening!

A figure burst through the trees then, and Fili was relieved to see it was Jaime. Thanking Mahal, Odin, and every God he had every heard of, Fili watched as Jaime's sword easily cut down the solider who was standing back and watching. With his hand on his cock, he had no chance before the blonde knight cut him down. The men holding Moira down released her various limbs, cursing, and scrambled for their weapons.

Moira kicked the one between her legs, kneeing his exposed hard-on with a vengeance. He fell back, mouth open in a silent 'O' of surprise. She grabbed a knife that was on his belt and launched herself at him, a wordless scream of fury ripping from her. He fell on his back, stunned from the pain, and tried to scramble backwards. But it was no use. Moira was on top of him now, stabbing wildly with the knife clutched in her still-bound hands. Over and over and over she plunged the dagger into his chest, threads of bright red blood flying everywhere. Around her Jaime cut down the other three soldiers left. Under other circumstances, Fili would have been admiring Jaime's skill with a sword. Even outnumbered, he finished the fight quickly. He was clearly an excellent swordsman, and in fact Fili could recognize techniques and movements that he had seen Moira use.

But of course Fili was more concerned with Moira's state of mind. The other four soldiers were cut down, and the one beneath Moira was clearly dead. But she continued to stab him furiously, hot red blood spraying and covering her face, hands, and the ripped and ruined scraps of her dress. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood and dirt. She was screaming and sobbing at the same time, and she looked positively feral.

“Amber?” Jaime was standing back at a safe distance, talking quietly. “It's okay now, they're dead. You got him.”

When she turned, knife still clutched in her tied hands, a near-demonic fire in eyes, Fili feared for a moment that she might attack her rescuer.

“Amber?” Jaime said again. He dropped the bloody sword, and held one hand out to her. His voice was calm and low, soothing. “Amber, it's me, Jaime. I'm your friend.” The knife in Moira's hands started to shake. “Amber, you're okay. It's okay. I'm here to protect you.” She dropped the knife and launched herself at him then. The knight wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest and sobbed. “Shush, it's okay, I'm here.” Jaime held her for a moment, and while Fili watched the knight calm her, he thanked all the Valar and all of Moira's Gods that she hadn't needed to face this dreadful world alone. His heart was still beating wildly at what had nearly happened, what he had nearly been forced to bear witness to.

Presently Jaime lifted her head from his chest, cupping her face with his hands.“But we have to go. Amber, we have to move. There could be more on the way.”

She pulled away from him, wiping tears from her eyes. She was visibly steeling herself. “We should take some of their weapons.”

Fili saw the pride on Jaime's face as he spoke then.“Of course. It's just too bad they didn't have horses, since we lost the last one.”

**.............................................................................................................................................................**

“Jaime, how long until we reach Harrenhall?”

“A few weeks, maybe.”

“You need to teach me to fight. Last time was too close.”

A sigh. “A sword might be too heavy for you. Maybe two daggers would be better. You'd have to get closer to your enemy, which would give them a chance to grab you, but you're quick and agile. You can use that. Most broadswords would slow a woman of your size down and end up being more of a hindrance than a help. Archery would be even better, but your aim is terrible.”

“Daggers it is, then.”

“Unless we find you a small, light sword, but I wouldn't bet on it.”

**...............................................................................................................................................................**

“Why do they call you the Kingslayer?” Moira and Jaime were sitting close to a low-burning fire in the woods, two rabbits cooking over it.

“Because I killed a king.”

“Thanks, Jaime, but I figured that part out myself.” the sarcasm in her voice was thick enough to match Jaime's, and Fili couldn't help but admire her spunk. She had been so quiet on the journey, no doubt the result of witnessing the horrors caused by this War of Five Kings, as the “smallfolk” were apparently calling it.

The escaped knight sighed and looked at her, appraising. Trying to decide what, if anything, he should tell her. Fili could see that it weighed him down, how he had gained his ignoble title, and he feared to tell Moira and lose her respect. But he also seemed to ache to reveal it, at the same time. Secrets were painful. “I was named to the Kingsguard when I was 15, the youngest knight ever to do so. I still believed in things like chivalry and honor then....” Fili sat on the log beside Moira to listen to Jaime's story. What else could he do? He had stopped trying to interfere a while ago. There was something he was supposed to learn about her in his observations, he was sure. Fili's horror grew along with Moira's as Jaime spoke of the atrocities he had been forced to watch the Mad King commit, of the many people Aerys II had burned alive. When he told Moira that one night he and another knight of the Kingsguard had to stand outside Aerys' bedchamber while he raped the Queen, Moira's hands covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “I commented that we were sworn to protect her, as well, and do you know what he said? 'We are, but not from him.'”

“Oh, Jaime,” Moira breathed and moved to sit closer to him. By the end of the horrific tale, Fili had to agree with Moira that Jaime had done the right thing in killing the Mad King, oath or no. A king that would massacre their own people for the sake of spite was no king at all. Killing a king to protect half a million lives was the right call. “And for 17 years I've endured their spite and scorn. Been called Kingslayer, oathbreaker, man without honor. Everyone will always think the worse of me.”

“Not me.” Moira's voice was thick with emotion. “They're wrong. _Jaime, look at me_.” Jaime finally lifted his head, looking at her with hope in his emerald eyes. Moira placed her hand on his cheek.“You're more honorable than _any_ of them. It's easy to sit in judgment when they weren't there, when they didn't have to choose themselves. You made the hard choice. You did one thing that might be considered bad, in order to prevent a host of bad things. _**Half a million people**_ are still alive because of you. **_I'm_** still alive because of you. You're a good man, an honorable man. And you're not just a good man. You're a hero.”

A strangled-sounding sob came from the blonde man at Moira's acceptance, and Fili wasn't surprised when he leaned forward and kissed her, or that she responded. Fili had seen this coming, in fact had guessed that there was more between them since she had first mentioned him when she was telling her story that night in Bag End, long before she had started to cry his name out during some of her many nightmares. Still, knowing it and seeing his One kissing this man were two different things. It still hurt. Fili told himself that he owed this Jaime, for keeping her safe. Thankfully, the scene soon changed. And Fili soon wished it hadn't.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

Jaime and Moira were crouched in bushes, hiding in the thick, overgrown hedges at the edge of a wild-looking forest and looking out into a clearing. Fili instinctively crouched beside them, even though he knew that the soldiers in the clearing couldn't see him. There was a huge group of soldiers, whose colors Fili couldn't see, but there were at least 30 of them. And one single, solitary girl within the group. Horror grew in Fili's chest as he realized what was likely about to happen to her. Jaime and Moira were arguing in hushed whispers about the sight before them.

“We have to help her!”

“We _can't_. Unless you'd like to join her!”

“I have to be able to live with myself when this over, Jaime!”

Moira pulled away from him, starting to draw a dagger from her belt. The knight tackled her, bringing her to the ground. Jaime wrapped his arms around her, covering her mouth, and whispered into her ear as he pulled her back against his chest and rolled into the hedges, further away from the men.

“There are _half a hundred_ men out there. Even I can't fight that many. _You_ would have no chance. You'd be on your back beside her in no time.”

“They're going to rape her!”

“Better her than you!” Jaime hissed. “I'm sorry about it, I really am. I know it's horrible, but I'll not risk _you_ , Amber!”

The screaming started then, and a shudder ran through Moira's body. Jaime continued to whisper to Moira, one hand stroking her arm gently while the other was held over her mouth to muffle her sobs. Fili was glad that since he was in Moira's memories and Moira couldn't see what was happening to the poor girl when their backs were turned to it, that he couldn't either. The girl's screams were truly pitiful. Fili covered his ears desperately, but it did nothing to muffle the sound. He focused on Moira's face, which had tears streaming down it as Jaime whispered to her, telling her to go inside herself and block out the world, and Fili thought he could see the exact moment that her mind broke.

**...............................................................................................................................................................**

They were in a stone room now, a fire crackling in the hearth. The room was still dingy, and the corners still covered in black soot, despite the best efforts of what was no doubt an army's worth of servants. They had made it to the dragon-ruined castle held by Jaime's father, then. Jaime looked splendid in his red, gold, and black Lannister armor, clean-shaved now, but he was pacing the room angrily, yelling and gesturing wildly. Fili looked at Moira, and noticed that the sleeve of her simple servant's gown was ripped. Her head was hanging low and she had her arms wrapped around herself. He focused now on the angry words coming from the knight, who showed no signs of calming down.

“Why didn't you defend yourself?” he bellowed in Moira's general direction, continuing to pace. “I taught you to fight! He wouldn't have expected it. You could have defeated him! Why didn't you?”

Moira's voice was sad when she responded. “And what would happen to me if I had killed one of your father's men? Or even just struck him?” Her words stopped the blonde knight in his tracks. He gaped at her, but the horror on his handsome face as she continued her quiet defense told Fili that Moira was correct in her assumptions. “I doubt very much the fact that it was self-defense would matter at all. I'm just a low-born foreign girl, a servant.”

“ _Seven hells_ , Amber, if I hadn't turned the corner at that exact moment....”

“I know.”

“Don't worry. He won't soon forget the beating I gave him.” The Man growled, and Fili approved of his reaction. He was shocked when Moira didn't. She shook her head violently.

“Jamie, you're just making it worse.”

“What are you talking about?"

“You're Kingsguard, Jaime. You have to return to the capital. What do you think will happen as soon as you're gone?”

“That's it. You're coming with me to King's Landing.” The nobleman nodded sharply, his mouth set in a firm line, as if his word was law and it was already decided. “I can keep you safe there.”

“And how are you going to explain that? Are servants going to be treated any differently there?”

“I'll … have papers of nobility forged for you. From a small house, nothing grand, so it won't draw suspicion.... somewhere farther south, it can't be the West because my family is from there, and it can't be somewhere that is in open rebellion. Maybe Dorne.”

“I thought the Dornishmen _hated_ the Lannisters.” Moira was protesting.

“The Crownlands, then. Or the Reach. It doesn't matter where you're from, as long as no one suspects the truth. Although, considering your memory problems, we should probably say you come from one of Free Cities across the sea. Now that I consider it, it's too obvious that you're not Westerosi. We'll have to say you hail from Essos, then. I'll consult my brother; Tyrion will help us. Then you can work as a handmaiden to one of the ladies from a greater house, and if you have to defend yourself, it'll be expected.”

“And what about my fake family suddenly gaining a new daughter? How are you going to pull _that_ off? Plus your father is not going to be at war forever, and I doubt he ever forgets a face.”

“We'll bribe someone. Or threaten them. Or call in a debt. This will work, I promise. Don't ask me to leave you here to be raped.”

Moira still looked uncertain, but she had no choice, and she knew it. Jaime knew it. Fili knew it. He was not liking Westeros at all.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

When the scene had changed, Fili found himself standing in a magnificent throne room. Sunlight streamed through the high stained glass windows, dappling the assembled crowds within. They had finally arrived at the capital, then. There was a slight blonde boy with a pinched face sitting atop a fierce-looking throne of melted swords at the center of the room. A throne that was much too large for him. Jaime was off to the side, wearing silver armor and a white cloak. Fili assumed the change in armor designated him as one of the Kingsguard, because two more knights dressed the same way flanked stairs at the base of the throne. A grim looking man rode into the throne room on a white horse and dismounted before the throne, and the boy-king began to speak.

“I, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, first of my name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby proclaim my grandfather, Tywin Lannister, the savior of the city and the Hand of the King.”

Lord Tywin nodded and intoned a thank-you in a deep voice. The king called a “Lord Petyr Baelish” to step forward next. A tall skinny man with dark hair and a face that reminded Fili of a rat stepped forward, taking the spot recently vacated by Lord Tywin. The boy King Joffery spoke again, 

“For your good service and ingenuity in uniting the Houses of Lannister and Tyrell, I declare that you shall be granted the castle of Harrenhall with all its attendant lands and incomes to be held by your sons and grandsons from this day until the end of time.”

Lord Rat-face bowed and spoke in a voice as smooth and smarmy as Fili would expect from someone like him. “You honor me beyond words, Your Grace. I shall have to acquire some sons and grandsons.”

Light laughter rippled through the crowd of onlookers. The young King called the next name on his list. “Ser Loras Tyrell.”

An armored knight, much younger than Jaime, with surprisingly delicate features and a mop of curly hair stepped forward and took one knee in front of the throne. Next to him stood a beautiful blue-eyed woman in a low-cut dress, who kept her eyes downcast. Her demure attitude struck Fili as false, and for more reasons then that the shy attitude she was projecting contrasted sharply with the amount of skin her dress displayed. Joffery addressed the Tyrell knight, “Your house has come to our aid. The whole realm is in your debt, none more so than I. If your family would ask anything of me, ask it, and it shall be yours.”

Ser Loras was still on his knee before the throne, head bowed in respect as he addressed the King. “Your Grace, my sister Margaery, her husband was taken from us before –” Loras cleared his throat uncomfortably. “She remains innocent.” Fili couldn't hold back a snort of derision. He doubted _that_ , very much. “I would ask you to find it in your heart to do us the great honor of joining our houses.”

“Is this what you want, Lady Margaery?”

Margaery raised her eyes and spoke for the first time. Her body posture was submissive and shy, but her voice was sultry. “With all my heart, Your Grace. I have come to love you from afar. Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears. And those tales have taken root deep inside of me.”

Fili had the distinct impression that he was watching a bad mummer's play. This entire display was a farce. The decisions had already been made and this was all an act.

Joffery spoke now. “I, too, have heard tales of your beauty and grace, but the tales do not do you justice, my lady. It would be an honor to return your love, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word.”

The beautiful blonde woman sitting beside the throne, who Fili assumed was this King's mother, chimed in now. Actually, as Fili focused on her sharp green eyes, he realized that she looked remarkably like Jaime. _This must be the sister_. “Your Grace, in the judgment of your Small Council, it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne as we speak. For the good of the realm, your councilors beg you to set Sansa Stark aside.”

The Queen Regent looked up to the gallery as she said that, and Fili followed her eyes to see a shocked and hopeful expression on the face of a painfully young redhead. _One of King Robb's sisters, the hostages_. There were cries of “Margaery! We want Margaery!” coming from the court. Yes, this was definitely staged.

Joffery shifted in his seat and took on a tone of mock piety. “I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people, but I took a holy vow.”

“Your Grace,” A bent old man wearing a worn black robe shuffled forward. Around his neck was looped a strange, heavy chain, each link being of varying sizes and made from different kinds of metal. It must have had some ceremonial meaning or symbolism of which Fili wasn't aware.

“The Gods do indeed hold betrothal solemn, but your father, blessed be his memory, made this pact before the Starks revealed their falseness. I have consulted with the High Septon, and he assures me that their crimes against the realm free you from any promise you have made to them in the sight of the gods.”

King Joffery stood and struck a pose on the steps leading up to his throne of molten swords. “The Gods are good. I am free to heed my heart. Ser Loras, I will gladly wed your sweet sister. You will be my Queen and I will love you from this day until my last day.”

The King raised his hand after a moment to quiet the sudden cheering. “Before we can celebrate, there is one last order of business. Lady Amber, step forward.”

Fili started. The plan about keeping her presence a secret from Tywin must have changed, presumably on the advice of Jaime's brother, whoever this Tyrion was. Moira nervously stepped forward, differentiating herself from the crowd. She was wearing a long, thin dress similar to those he saw worn by several of the women trailing behind more richly-adorned women. Handmaidens, he assumed. Moira curtesyed (clumsily), and kept her eyes on the base of the throne, not daring to look the King in the eyes. Fili could feel the fear radiating off of her. She wasn't nearly as good a liar as any of the other actors in this play. Fili could tell they were all play-acting. He was the Heir of his own people, after all, and had trained for years to spot such liars and sycophants. Half of the people in this room probably believed this act; the other half were the dangerous ones. This room was full of wolves (or lions, rather) in sheep's clothing, and he doubted this younger version of Moira had any idea how to spot them.

“My grandfather tells me that you were instrumental in my uncle Jaime's escape from Robb Stark's prison. It is because of you that he was able to join my grandfather and the Tyrells in routing Stannis' forces. Is this true?”

Moira nodded but keep her eyes downcast. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Forgive me, my lady, but I don't recognize your accent. You're not Westerosi?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Where are you from, then?”

Fili could see Moira hesitate before she answered, and wasn't sure if it was part of the act or not. “I don't know, Your Grace. The Northerners, they beat me savagely. Your uncle can confirm how I was in and out of consciousness for days. Ever since, I have had trouble with memories. I remember my name. I remember being stolen away by pirates, and then the ship crashing … but other than that, nothing before the Northerners beat me and took me prisoner.”

“Why did you help my uncle escape, then?”

Moira raised her eyes then. “Your uncle was kind to me, Your Grace. He promised me safety, refuge from the brutality of the Northerners. And, perhaps, a job, a way to support myself … although I don't know what job I could fill, with my memory and skills so lacking.”

Joffery nodded. “After your service to my family and the realm, I am sure we can find a position for you at court. Grand Maester Pycelle will see if there is anything that can be done for your memory, but in the meantime, you can be trained as a handmaiden to one of the Ladies of the court. If this is agreeable to you, of course.”

“It is, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace. I am very grateful for your generosity.”

**...............................................................................................................................................................**

They were in a garden now, and the soon-to-be-Queen Margaery was walking arm-in-arm with a very uncomfortable-looking Moira. Fili walked beside them, unseen as he always was.

“Nonsense!” Margaery was saying. “You single-handedly rescued the Queen Regent's brother from the Starks, I hear. How did you manage that, I wonder?”

“I've been wondering that, too.” Fili muttered to himself. But Moira avoided the question. “Actually, my lady, Jaime did most of the rescuing. I don't think I'd be alive today without him.”

Margaery playfully slapped her arm. “I told you to call me Margaery, not 'my lady'.” She smiled sweetly at Moira. “And it's Jaime, is it?” she teased. “Not Ser Jaime, or Lord Lannister?”

Fili could see the panic cross Moira's features before she schooled her expression back into one of indifference. “That's his name, isn't it?”

“Handmaidens don't usually refer to the son of the most prominent family in Westeros in such familiar terms.”

“Is that so, my la – Margaery?” Moira's voice sounded innocent. She was learning to play the game, but she wasn't nearly as good as the rest of the population of King's Landing. Not yet. “I'll have to remember that, thank you. You'll have to forgive me, I'm a foreigner, and my memory –”

“Yes, your memory.” Margaery smiled conspiratorially. “A very good excuse.”

“My la – Margaery, it's not an excuse, it's the truth.” Moira protested.

“Of course, of course. Well, if you need help learning how to fit in with us strange Westerosi, any help at all, you can always come to me. If you have any questions about our customs, or how you're expected to behave, you have only to ask. In fact, I was just on my way to the Sept to pray. Would you like to accompany me?”

“Lady Sansa may need me.” Moira protested.

“Lady Sansa is praying to her Northern gods in the godswood. She's in there for hours at a time. I'm sure she won't notice if her maidservant is away during that time.”

If Fili had seen the dark-haired girl in a thin shift trailing behind Moira and Lady Margaery, he likely would have dismissed her as one of Varys' little birds.

**...............................................................................................................................................................**

Moira trailed submissively behind Lady Sansa when the Queen found them. Fili didn't know how much time had passed, but he knew it was different day because the long, thin dress that Moira was wearing was a different color than the one in the scene before.

“What do we have here? Two little doves, flying so close together. Where are you going, little doves?”

Sansa cutseyed. “To the godswood, to pray, Your Grace.”

“Really?” Cersei's hawk-like emerald gaze swept past Sansa and landed on Moira. “I wasn't aware you kept to the old gods, Lady Amber. Has your memory returned then?”

Moira swallowed before answering. “No, Your Grace, I still have no memory. Nevertheless, I pray to the Seven. I only go because it is my duty to be nearby if Lady Sansa needs me.”

“Well, I'm afraid your Lady is needed somewhere else. Sansa, my son requests that you attend him in the throne-room. May I borrow your maid since you will not be requiring her services?”

The girl paled slightly but otherwise controlled her fear admirably. “Of course, Your Grace. I am eager to see to my beloved Joffery.”

When she was gone, Cersei's piercing gaze bored into Moira, and Fili could see that tell-tale shift of her weight from foot to foot that betrayed her desire to run away as swiftly as she could.“Tell me, little dove, who are you loyal too?”

“Your Grace?”

“Attending Lady Sansa hasn't made you sympathetic to the Northern cause, has it?”

Fili's eyes narrowed. “Why would you think that?” He sarcastically asked the Queen, knowing she could not hear him. “Could it be because your son is a sadistic piece of Orc filth?”

“Of c-c-course not, Your Grace! The Northerners, they b-beat me savagely, I f-f-feared for my life –”

“Yes, yes, we are all aware of Northern brutality.” Cersei waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I want to be certain that you are still loyal House Lannister.”

“Of course I am! I owe everything to House Lannister, Your Grace, I owe my life, if it hadn't been for your brother –”

“Yes, my brother.” The Queen's lips twisted into a snarl. “The entire court is aware of his … protectiveness towards you. You're heard the song the Rains of Castamere?”

“Yes, they play it so often here.”

“I don't imagine you know the story, with your memory gone. So allow me to enlighten you. House Rayne was a great family once, the second most powerful in Westeros … until they rebelled against my father. How do you think he dealt with them?”

“I can guess.” Fili muttered to himself.

Moira was hesitant when she responded. “I don't know, Your Grace.”

“Look around, little dove. Do you see any Raynes?”

Moira shook her head.

“That is because my father destroyed their house, root and stem. Every man, woman and child, put to the sword.” The Queen smiled a cutting smile, her green eyes sparkling coldly. She tilted her head to side, her long hair the color of spun gold spilling over her shoulders. “'And now the rains weep over his hall, and not a soul to hear.' Tell me, do you think they will write songs for your demise, a nameless girl who can't even remember where she's from?”

“N-n-no, Your Grace.”

“No indeed. Remember where your loyalty lies, Lady Amber. With House Lannister, not merely my brother.”

The Queen swept closer then, using her height to intimidate the much smaller woman. “Remember: A Lannister always pays her debts.”

And then she was gone, not waiting for an answer. Her guards trailed after her, and Moira breathed a sigh of relief.

**............................................................................................................................................................**

“My brother would never beat a woman!” Fili heard the shrill, tear-filled voice of Lady Sansa before the room solidified around him. Sansa was glowering at Moira, whose eyes were on the floor. The redhead's neck was covered in ugly bruises, the result of the beating Sansa had received in the throne room earlier in the day, before Jaime had lost his cool and forced his nephew to relent.

“You're a liar.” Sansa continued. “You're one of _them_. The Queen made you my handmaiden so you would _spy_ on me!” The lady's voice was hoarse, evidence of the choking she had received from Ser Meryn as punishment for her brother winning another victory on the battlefield. She was finally dropping her 'I am loyal to my beloved Joffery' act, but only to take her rage out on someone as powerless as her.

“You poor child.” Fili whispered. He felt as much pity for the red-haired Northerner as he did for his One. They were both in an awful situation. He wished they weren't at odds with each other because of it.

“It wasn't your brother, my lady.” Moira whispered, eyes still on the ground. “It was Theon Greyjoy.” This caused the Stark girl to pause, uncertainty on her face. Apparently she was acquainted with the Greyjoy's more sadistic tendencies. Moira continued. “And I don't work for the Queen. I don't even _like_ her. I'm – I'm afraid of her.” The last sentence was said in a whisper.

“You expect me to believe that?” There was bitterness in the girl's voice.

“Do you want me to leave you alone, my lady?”

For a moment there was silence in the room, deafening in its oppressiveness. “No.” After her trauma and humiliation in the throne room today – _again_ – she didn't want to be alone. “Brush my hair.” She commanded. Sansa moved to sit at the vanity in front of the mirror. Moira finally lifted her eyes from the floor when she went to stand behind her and gently started to brush the silky red strands. Sansa gazed blankly at her own reflection. Fili settled on the bed and watched the rare act of gentleness shared between the two women, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with observing the intimacy of the act.

“Why did you help him?” Sansa finally asked.

“Who, my lady?”

“The Kingslayer. You helped him to escape from my brother.”

“Careful, love.” Fili couldn't help warning her. Not that she needed it. Moira considered carefully for a few moments before answering, continuing to gently brush Sansa's hair as she did so. Finally, she sighed.

“Because I was scared, my lady. Because I was kept in a cage, open to the wind and the rain, chained to a stranger. Because the guards would frequently forget to feed us. Because when they were bored, they would taunt and humiliate us. Because I was scared of Theon Greyjoy, and because many of the soldiers called me a whore and threatened to rape me.” her voice wavered. Sansa's eyes darted up to met hers through the mirror. “Because Jaime was the only person in this Gods-forsaken country who has shown me any human kindness. Ironically, good King Robb,” her voice took on a bitter edge at the name, “made me into the very thing he feared. I wasn't a spy and I didn't care about your war. I was just lost.” Her voice softened again as she seemed to remember who she was talking to. “And most importantly, because I had no chance in the wilderness on my own. And I was right. While we were coming south, I saw many terrible things. Things I probably shouldn't talk about to a lady such as yourself.”

“I've seen many terrible things here in King's Landing.”

“Not like this.” The haunted look in her eyes would be unmistakable even to someone with as sheltered a childhood as Sansa's. “Some of them were committed by your brother's troops. Some by men loyal to Jaime's father. Some by bandits or sellswords or men with no allegiance.” For the most part, up until now her voice had been calm, listing her reasons almost as if she was listing the ingredients for lemoncakes, but now there was pain and fear in it. “So many men are monsters, under the skin, no matter whose colors they wear.”

“I'm sorry.” Sansa's voice was quiet, and she sounded truly contrite. “Especially for anything my brother's men may have ...” the sentence trailed off, as if she was afraid to finish it.

“It's not your fault, my lady.”

“No, but I could have been nicer to you.”

“You had no reason to be. And with what the King did today ... I understand. But –” Moira stopped herself.

“What?” Sansa prompted.

“Nothing, it doesn't matter.”

“You can tell me. I promise I won't be angry.”

She sighed.“Not all Lannisters are terrible. And if you'll forgive me, my lady, I doubt that all Starks are good. The world is not so simple as that. Things are rarely black and white, as much as we may wish them to be.”

For a few moments, the only sound was the soft swish of the brush sliding over Sansa's hair.

“But I understand if you hate me.” Moira finally said.

“I don't hate you.”

Fili's sad smile mirrored Moira's.

“I just want to go home, get away from all this.” Moira caught herself and added, “Even if I don't remember where home is, it's got to be better than _this_.”

Sansa's response was so quiet that Fili almost didn't hear it. She whispered it as if it were the most dangerous secret, and not the plain truth that it was. “I want to go home too.”

Truth was so rare in King's Landing.

**...............................................................................................................................................................**

“Your son is a monster.” Moira's voice was soft. _Son?_ Fili's mind whirled. _But the boy-king is the son of Jaime's sister...._

The knight looked exhausted. “I know.” he said quietly. Moira embraced him silently. Fili expected him to kiss her, but instead he just placed his head heavily on her shoulder, wrapping his hands around her waist. He whispered into her neck, “I don't know what to do.”

“Shh, Jaime, shhh.” She whispered, stroking his hair gently.

“History is repeating itself. I'm serving another mad king.”

“We could leave. Cross the Narrow Sea and go to the Free Cities.”

“There's nowhere in the world we can go that my father wouldn't find us. Besides,” Jaime raised his head and looked into Moira's eyes. “My brother … my other children ….”

He looked guilty. Moira shushed him. “It's okay, I understand. You _should_ be here for Tommen, and Myrcella too, if she ever comes back from Dorne. Even if you can't do anything to change Joffery.”

So _all_ the Queen's children were born of incest. _That's_ what had started the war. It was all starting to fall into place for Fili.

“Wow, you like them complicated, don't you?” he absentmindedly addressed Moira, not expecting a response.

Jaime raised his hand to stroke her cheek. “I could send _you_ across the sea.” Moira was shaking her head before he had finished the sentence. “No, listen to me, Amber. It's not safe for you here. If my sister finds out about you ...”

“She won't. I'm becoming a much better liar.”

“Not good enough. I think Varys suspects. We're lucky that he seems to want to stay in Tyrion's good graces, for now. But who knows what spiders or eunuchs truly want? They're as changeable as the wind.”

“Jaime, please don't ask me to leave.”

“I wouldn't just abandon you. I could buy you a house in Pentos, or Braavos, or wherever you want to go. With guards and servants to care for you. You could have as many books and dogs as you desire. You'd want for nothing. My family is the richest in the Seven Kingdoms, the gold required to set you up for life would never be missed.”

“Jaime, do you want me to leave?” Her voice was small. “Are you trying to get rid of me, so you can marry Sansa like your father wants?”

“No! Never!” His hands were on her shoulders now, and his voice dropped to a pained whisper. “I just want you to be safe. You'll never be safe in King's Landing, as long as my sister lives.”

“We'll figure something out. Tyrion will figure something out.”

“Amber –”

“Don't 'Amber' me.” Her voice was authoritative, and she started to pull him by the arm towards the four-post bed in the center of the room. “Come to bed. We'll worry about it later.” The blonde knight grumbled, but he obeyed and followed her.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

The boy-king's cruelty continued to grow. He didn't bother with the slightest subtly or play-acting anymore, openly threatening to rape Sansa at the feast celebrating her (forced) wedding to Jaime's diminutive brother. Fili was relieved that if Sansa was married to anyone, it was Tyrion. The Lannister brothers seemed to be the only men of honor in this accursed city, as far as he could tell. Perhaps their version of honor was not as clean-cut as the kind he had been taught. But from what Fili had seen of this world, it was more surprising that they had any at all.

Fili had already longed to wipe the insufferable smirk off Joffery's ugly, pinched little face for a while. But when his eyes began to land more and more on Moira, Fili would have given anything to have solid form, to feel the crunch of the spoiled, vicious brat's bones beneath his fists. Death by sword or ax would be too good for King Joffery Baratheon; Fili longed to beat him to death with his bare hands. Thankfully, Joffery didn't have time to do much more than verbally harass Moira before he was (unsurprisingly) poisoned at his own wedding feast. Unfortunately, that led directly to Tyrion's arrest and Moira's betrayal.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

The entire trial had been a farce. Anyone with eyes could see that it had been set up to frame Tyrion. Pycelle laid it on thick, calling Joffery “the most noble child the Gods ever put on this good earth”, which made Fili snort with derision. The entire court booed and hissed. The entire court which had also watched Meryn Trant beat a half-naked Sansa Stark until no part of her skin, save her face, was unmarked. Was their memory so short?

When Moira was led in by one of the Kingsguard, the betrayal and anger on Jaime's face was far too obvious. It would have been easily read by anyone in the room had they had looked his way. A muscle was twitching in his cheek, and Moira avoided his eyes as she stepped up to the witness stand. But she couldn't make it through her testimony. The lies, which had clearly been written by the Queen, were cut off when she began to cry, sobbing heavily. Tywin was annoyed, prodding her continue. But Moira couldn't regain her composure.

“Clearly the girl is terrified of the Imp.” Mace Tyrell, father of Margaery and Tywin's lapdog.

Fili couldn't hold his rage back anymore. “Are you people _**blind?!!**_ ” he bellowed to the deaf crowd. “She isn't afraid of Tyrion! She's afraid of Cersei!”

“Are those tears of fear? They look like shame to me.” Interjected the heavily accented voice of Oberyn Martell, the third judge and the only one who seemed to have any sense. The Prince of Dorne and his paramour had been kind to Moira when she had been serving wine at what people were now calling the Purple Wedding, even as he had quickly deduced her feelings for Jaime. Although Fili could have done without having to watch his attempts to flirt with her. For some reason that had been more uncomfortable for him to observe that his One kissing Jaime, although he couldn't fathom exactly _why_. In any case, it was likely the fact that she had been serving wine at the wedding which led her to playing this bit in this travesty of a trial. No doubt if she didn't play the role that the Queen had assigned her, she'd find herself accused.

Now Moira buried her face in her hands at his words, avoiding Oberyn's sharp gaze, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. When it became evident that she would not be able to continue, they let her go. As Moira was led away from the witness stand, still crying, she stopped by where Tyrion was seated.

“I'm sorry.” She choked out. “I'm sorry. I want to live.”

The 'dwarf' smiled a tight, sad smile at her through the obvious pain on his scarred face. “It's alright. I understand.” He turned away from her, closing in on himself, and Moira cried harder as she was led away.

It was the next witness that was the final nail in his coffin.

If Fili had been looking, he might have seen an unusually small, dark-haired child in the crowd, still clutching a stuffed rabbit, watching the trial with dark, frightened eyes.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

It took Jaime a while to forgive Moira for the part she had played in his brother's conviction. Although that was likely as much self-hatred, because it was Jaime who freed his brother from the black cells after Tyrion's demand for a trial by combat had gone horribly awry. But before the former Hand of the King boarded a boat bound for Essos with the spy-master Varys, he killed his lover Shae, and more importantly to Jaime, shot their father with a crossbow as he sat on the privy. Not that Fili saw that, as Moira had not been involved. But the day after the trial by combat, it was all anyone could talk about.

For a time Jaime and Moira were estranged. Jaime returned to the arms of his sister. Moira began to work for another lady of the court, one of the Tyrell cousins that forever hung on Lady Margaery's every word. It wasn't until Jaime's daughter was _also_ poisoned, dying in his arms on a ship leaving Dorne, that he returned to her. _Mahal, what a cursed excuse for a family_ , was all Fili could think as Moira held the broken knight, who was still trying to be stoic, holding back his tears as he buried his face in Moira's lap, even as he had lost the second of his three illegitimate, secret children. Most heartbreaking of all, Jaime told Moira that just before Myrcella had died, she had told him that she knew the truth of her birth and was proud to have him as her father. He had enjoyed one moment of love and acceptance, just one moment as a real father and not an uncle, before it was taken from him. Fili had never seen Myrcella (she had been sent away to Dorne before the Battle of the Blackwater, and so Moira had never met her), but he doubted that all of Cersei's children were as rotten as Joffery. Tommen, after all, seemed like nothing more than a sweet child. He doubted that the girl had deserved it. With every passing moment Fili hated Westeros more.

**............................................................................................................................................................**

The scene melted again, and when it solidified, they were in Moira's chambers. She was sitting on the bed, a cup of tea in her hands. Jaime was kneeling before her, his bright green eyes brimming with sorrow. Fili could feel the air heavy with an unspoken weight.

“Help me?” she asked, her voice impossibly small, tears in her dark eyes. “Share the burden with me?”

The knight nodded, understanding, his large hands wrapping around her small ones on the teacup. He gently bought the cup to her mouth, tilting it forward. She drank all of the dark liquid inside, gazing deeply into sad emerald eyes as she did so. The cup fell from limp fingers to the stone floor below and shattered. Neither of the two figures paid it any mind. Horror pooled in Fili's stomach as a suspicion began to grow in his mind.

Jaime moved to the bed, pulling Moira into his embrace, laying her head in his lap as she stared blankly at the door. “I wish things were different.” the knight murmured to her as he stroked her hair with one hand and her arm with the other.

“I know. I can't fall pregnant right now. It'll just get me killed.”

His suspicions confirmed, Fili buried his face in his hands at the pain in Moira's voice.

“We should have gone to the Free Cities years ago.”

Fili couldn't hear if Jaime responded.

**..............................................................................................................................................................**

When a great struggle, reeling from the effort, Moira pushed the door to the Queen's solar open. The sight she was greeted with made Fili gape just as the tears began to stream down Moira's face. Jaime was bent over the table, his hands wrapped tightly around Cersei's throat, the crown having tumbled from her short hair to the ground. The woman's face was slowly going as purple as their son's had when he was poisoned, and her small hands scratched at Jaime's in a grotesque mirror of Joffery scratching at his own throat.

“How could you?” Jaime was whispering to his sister and ex-lover. “How could you take her from me in that manner? And you claim to _love_ me?!?!”

Moira let out a cry and stumbled, her vision swimming, causing the world around Fili to bend and blur in wavy lines. He reached out for purchase on the door-jam, and of course could find none, because he wasn't really there. Jaime dropped the limp body of his sister, which slid to the floor in a pile of black skirts as he ran to Moira and gathered her in his arms. He rocked her and babbled. Fili could only make out half of what he said.

“.... Shouldn't be up. …. poison … for weeks now … Tears of Lys …. after _everything_ , after Joffery, after Myrcella …. love you …..”

Moira smiled up at him, lifting a shaking, pale hand to stroke his cheek.

“My poor Jaime.” she coughed. “Not just a Kingslayer now, but a Queenslayer as well....” her voice trailed off.

“Don't speak, Amber, don't try to speak....”

Fili could see the light leaving her eyes as she forced out her last words: “You need to run …..” and then she went limp in Jaime's arms, black fog closing around the world and ice around Fili's heart.

**..............................................................................................................................................................**

The fog cleared, and Fili was in an ally. The buildings on either side were impossibly tall, and the ground was made of some kind of hard material, like stone, but smoother. Moira was laying on the hard ground, gasping, and she sat up, looking around, confused. She pressed her hand to her chest, as if checking to see if her heart was still beating. “I'm not dead ….”

She looked down at herself, and looked even more confused. It dawned on Fili then that she was no longer wearing the Westerosi-style dress that she had just been in – that she had just _died_ in – and was instead clad in those strange and foreign clothes that Fili had first seen her wearing in this strange dreamland. She stilled, and perhaps the memory of how she had died in Westeros came to her then, or maybe she started to truly understand her what her revival meant, because she began to cry, her body shaking from the violence of her sobs.

Fili knew she couldn't hear him. He knew it. But he whispered to her anyway, hoping that some small part of her mind would register his presence and take comfort in it. “Moira, amrâlimê, I am so sorry. But you _will_ get past this, I promise you.” Fili realized there were tears on his own face now.

Eventually she calmed, sitting up and drawing her knees to her chest. She looked around herself for the first time since she had woken up. “Skyscrapers,” she muttered as she looked up at the impossibly tall building. “I'm in a big city.” She didn't seem surprised. She had said that the second world she was in was almost like the one she was born to. As far as Fili was concerned 'skyscraper' was an incredibly appropriate term for these buildings, for they did indeed seem tall enough to touch the dome of the sky above them. His Dwarvish heart had to admire the incredible engineering skill that had to have gone into their creation.

But when she finally pulled herself up, bracing herself on one of the 'skyscraper's nearby walls to support herself, and walked out onto the street, Fili found himself overwhelmed by a sea of foreign sights and smells and sounds that he didn't know what to make of. The sounds alone! This city was a cacophony of noise, and Fili wondered how the inhabitants here didn't go deaf from the din. The little path that ran alongside the road was packed with people, all as strangely-dressed as Moira had been when he had first come upon her in this odd dreamland. Some of the women were wearing clothing so scandalous that they would only be seen in a whorehouse in Middle-Earth, but that wasn't what caught Fili's attention.

The road was filled with what he could only describe as huge metal creatures racing by. They were large and box-shaped, and _roared_ as they ran past. Their eyes, which were large, oddly-shaped, and set low on their faces, actually _glowed_ with a demonic fire that lit the road ahead of them awash in light. Their legs were oddly round and the speed with which they carried their unwieldy bodies forward actually caused them to blur.

One of the people walking by, a man as strangely-dressed as the rest of them and carrying a square-shaped leather case of some kind, raised his arm and bellowed “Hey! Taxi! Over here!” That apparently drew the attention of one of the creatures, this one bright yellow in hue. Fili wanted to scream at him for his foolishness at drawing the unnaturally bright eyes of this 'Taxi' monster to him. The creature slowed then, coming to rest next to the man carrying the boxy bag. The Taxi-beast's roar quieted to a low purr, and Fili's jaw dropped when he realized that he could see _inside_ the creature's belly, as both the front of the beast above it's face and on the sides had clear, window-like areas set into its metal body.

“What in Mahal's name?!” Fili couldn't help but gasp out when the strangely-dressed man opened what appeared to be a door on the beast's side and actually _climbed inside!_ The action made him notice that another man, this was older-looking, was sitting nearer to what he had assumed to be the face of the creature, and clutching a round wheel that was set into the … the insides of the creature. Both were acting completely calm, as if they hadn't just been eaten by one of these roaring metal monsters.

The fact that no-one walking by acted scared of the creatures, or the terrifying sight of their fellows being devoured by them, slowly made him realize that whatever had happened was normal. Another of the yellow beasts pulled up to the path along the road, and this time people climbed _out_ of it's belly. They appeared unharmed, and Fili realized that the creatures were a form of transportation. Still, what a way to travel, _inside_ of a metal monster!

A loud sigh reminded Fili of where he was and why he was here. He turned to observe Moira's reaction. She was watching the scene, and her red-rimmed eyes actually looked _bored_. “Haven't seen cars in a while,” she muttered to herself, watching the beasts whiz by. 'Cars'. She had used that word before, in Bag End, when contrasting what she apparently considered 'primitive' worlds like Middle-Earth with more 'modern' ones. She had said something about “swords and sorcery instead of cars and computers”, and also that he wouldn't have the “context” to understand it. So this _was_ normal then. Fili dreaded to find out what a computer was.

“New York,” Fili heard Moira breath beside him. “I'm in New York City.”

“Of course you're in New York, you stupid tourist,” an portly man growled as he pushed her aside. 

“How many poppers did you take last night?”

“I don't have a cellphone,” She addressed the extremely rude man. “Can I borrow some quarters? I just have to find a public pay phone and make a call.”

“Go fuck yourself.” was his curt reply. Fili couldn't help the growl that came from deep in his throat, or keep his intangible hands from curling into fists. The rage at watching her mistreatment was a more familiar and safer feeling than the confusion and alienation this world was causing, and Fili focused on it to anchor him in this foreign environment.

Moira wandered. She didn't seem to know this city, even though she had recognized it. Several times she asked passersby for 'spare change', although Fili could see that her face burned with shame to do so. Most were extremely rude to her by Fili's standards, but a few of them smiled blankly as they gave her a few coins, some of them practically tossing them at her so they would not have to touch her. At one point she picked up the coins from the 'sidewalk' while holding back tears as the couple who had thrown them out skirted around her as if she had some deadly disease they were fearful of catching.

Finally, she must have had gotten enough to purchase this 'phone call' she was so desperate for, whatever it was. After counting the coins several times, to be sure, he assumed, she set off. Her eyes were searching the side of the road for something. Eventually she came to a stop next to a metal rectangular box mounted on a pole. She sighed in relief, and pulled … something from the box. It was connected to the metal box by a cord, and when she lifted it to her head, Fili realized that it was shaped to fit the contours of a human face. But he couldn't see the purpose of the machine. Her fingers twitched, and she was mouthing something to herself, as if she was trying to remember something important. Finally, she punched a pattern into a series of small buttons labeled with numbers, and Fili heard a ringing sound, like a bell.

“Hello?” A woman's voice came from the odd contraption, making him jump. Fili cocked his head to the side in surprise. That voice …

“Who is this? Is my brother there?” Moira asked suspiciously. Moira had a brother? That was news. She didn't talk about her first life very much. The least, actually.

“This is Amber. Who are you?” The voice responded. Moira's jaw dropped at the same time that Fili's did. He _thought_ it had sounded like her voice!

“W-what?” Moira stuttered out.

“Who is this?” the voice was getting exasperated. When the voice demanded an answer a third time, Moira slammed the earpiece down with venomous force, glaring at it as if it had done her a personal wrong.

“This isn't possible, this isn't possible ...” She was bracing herself against the metal box now, her breaths coming in quick pants.

“Moira, what's going on?” Fili couldn't help asking. There was no response, and she continued to hyperventilate.

A voice caught Fili's attention, and apparently broke through Moira's panic as well, because she suddenly stilled. “Two years ago, what is now being called the Incident or the Battle of New York occurred.”

Moira turned, following the voice to a storefront a few steps away, and Fili was confronted with another sight that he didn't know what to think of. Within the glass window were stacked boxes of various sizes, and all of them appeared to have tiny people trapped inside! Actually, most of them seemed to have the _same_ people trapped inside. Two people sat at a desk, and the word “News” was written on the wall behind them. The woman was the one talking, and as she went on, Moira's eyes got wider and wider.

“Two years ago, the Asgardian known as Loki led actual alien invaders into this city in his attempt to subjugate Earth. He was defeated thanks to the Avengers, who have been hailed both as heroes and as menaces ever since. The world was changed forever that day. We are now aware that we are not alone in the universe. But today we take a look back, we remember our dead, and we wonder about our future.”

Fili didn't know what was stranger, that the man (was he a Man?) who had apparently attacked this city bore the name of one of Moira's Viking Gods, or … or everything else. The picture that the little box displayed changed, showing the city from above … As the moving pictures showed incredible devastation, those huge buildings Fili had thought seemed so impregnable tumbling to the ground, Moira's face grew paler and paler.

“No ….” she gasped out. “It can't be …. I'm not home …. I'm in the Marvelverse …. and there's a version of me here ... Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I am _soooo_ fucked!” She was talking to herself now as she stared at the boxes with identical people trapped inside, and she didn't seem to notice or care that those walking by were giving her a wide berth. In fact, it wasn't long before she started to laugh hysterically.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

Moira lived on the streets of New York for weeks, dodging law-enforcement officers that the locals called 'cops' and scrounging for food in garbage. She slept in alleyways and parks. She started to avoid other homeless people after a scuffle where a group of young men took her food from her. One of them had tried to take something else, but quickly found that she was not easy prey. It was summer here, hot and sweltering, the opposite of the crisp coolness of a beginning winter that Westeros had been in the grips of when she died there. Just another reminder that she was somewhere else.

One day Moira's expression changed suddenly from resignation to hope, and Fili followed her gaze to see that she was watching a woman with dark hair and dusty-colored skin. Looking back to Moira, Fili saw that her face had clearly lit up with … with _recognition_. She _knew_ this woman from somewhere. Fili refocused again on the woman, appraising her. If he had been in Middle-Earth, Fili would had assumed that she hailed from Harad, such was her coloring. She was beautiful and her step was confident.

Moira fell in step behind the woman, trailing several hundred feet behind her. She straightened up her clothing as she went, trying to smooth back her wild-looking and unbrushed hair. She was obviously attempting to make herself presentable before she approached this woman, but being unwilling to risk losing her in the massive throng of humanity. Finally she either gave up or decided that she was presentable enough, because she then attempted to catch the woman's attention.

“Claire!” She called, jogging up to the woman.

“Yes?” When the woman turned around, Fili recognized that she subtly took a defensive stance. Whoever she was, she had training in hand-to-hand combat.

“Ummm ...” Now that she had caught up to her, Moira seemed at a loss for words. She clearly hadn't considered what she was going to say.

“How do you know my name?” The woman – Claire – asked Moira a little distrustfully. “Do I know you? From the hospital, right? Did I treat you?”

“No, um.” Moira swallowed. “It's … a little more complicated than that. I – I need your help.”

Claire smiled indulgently and pulled a crinkled 5-dollar bill from her pocket. She handed the strange paper currency Moira had mentioned so long ago to the disheveled girl in front of her. Moira took it, but looked down at the bill in her hand in confusion.

“No, that's not what I – ” She tried to protest. But Claire had already turned around and resumed her journey.

“I know Matt is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen!” Moira burst out. The sentence sounded like nonsense to Fili, but it most have meant _something_ because suddenly Claire spun around, fury on her face, hissing “Keep your voice down!” as she stalked back over to Moira.

“I didn't say his last name.” Moira's eyes were wide and pleading. “Please, I know you help people like me.” Her voice cracked. “I don't know what to do.”

Claire really looked at her know, taking in her desperate, dirty and half-starved appearance, and her face softened into something like compassion. “How long has it been since you've eaten?” The woman asked Moira kindly.

“I ate this morning.”

“I mean something that's not from a trash can.”

“Uhhhh....”

“If you can't remember, then it's been too long. Come on, there's a diner down the street. I'll buy you lunch and you can tell me your story.”

**................................................................................................................................................................**

Fili was glad that Claire was patient enough to let Moira eat before she started the interrogation. Moira ordered something called a 'blue-cheese hamburger', and a side of 'curly fries with honey mustard sauce'. When the large, over-packed sandwich arrived, Moira bit into it with obvious relish, the sauce and juices from the meat dripping down her chin in her haste. When she had eaten half the sandwich and put it down to begin sweeping fries through the honey mustard and popping them into her mouth, Claire finally started to talk.

“So, how do you know my name? And,” Claire paused, looked around to make sure that no one was listening, and dropped her voice a little. “And about Matt? Can you read minds?”

Moira couldn't hold back a small bark of a laugh at that. “If only it were that simple!” she said around a mouthful of fries.

“Well, what then?” Claire seemed open in her inquisitiveness, not condemning or suspicious.

Moira looked at her, and swallowed the food in mouth. “You might not believe me. I mean, it sounds kind of crazy.”

Claire laughed lowly and smiled a genuine smile. “Well, as you seem to be aware, I've become somewhat familiar with crazy.”

“Okay.” Moira took a minute to take a sip of her strange, bubbly drink. She then looked Claire right in the eyes as she told the truth, with absolutely no sugar-coating.

“I'm from a parallel world. One a lot like this one, only all this superhero stuff, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, Jessica Jones and Luke Cage, the Avengers and the Incident, it's all fictional. They're stories told in comic books, movies, TV shows. You're played by an actress named Rosario Dawson, for example.”

“Oooookkaaaaayyyy....” The woman looked shocked, but Fili had to admit she was taking it well.

“I told you it sounds crazy. You gonna drop me off at a nuthouse?”

“No, not yet.” There was a note of fascination in her voice, but Fili wasn't sure if she completely believed Moira or was just playing along. “Tell me more. How did you get here?”

“I have no idea. But it gets weirder.” Taking a moment to pause, Moira picked the remnants of the hamburger up and took a few more huge bites, finishing the sandwich off. “ _Gods_ , I missed these. There were no hamburgers were I was last.”

Realization was beginning to dawn on Claire's face. “You went to some other world first, didn't you? Wait, did you just say Gods, plural?”

Huh. So they just worshiped one God here, apparently. Fili watched the interaction closely, and found himself hoping that Claire could help Moira, even though he knew she wouldn't. And even if she had, he would have never have been able to meet his One. But watching her suffer was beginning to weigh on him.

“Sorry, force of habit.” Moira wiped her chin with a napkin and then went back to the curly fries. “I had to blend in, it was a dangerous place. Do you guys have Game of Thrones here?”

Claire took a sharp breath. “ _Don't_ tell me you were in Westeros.”

Moira didn't meet her eyes, and that was apparently all the explanation she needed. Which made Fili wonder what kind of life the dusty-skinned woman had led thus far. Claire cursed – at least Fili assumed it was cursing – in a language he didn't recognize.“How long?”

“Almost six years, or thereabouts.”

“Oh my God.” Claire covered her mouth in shock. “Were you …. okay?”

Apparently the brutality of Westeros was well-known here.

Moira shrugged. “It wasn't exactly a party, but it could have been a lot worse. I met someone who protected me from most of the bad things in that world, if you're wondering.”

“Can I ask who?”

A muscle twitched in Moira's cheek. “I'd rather not say.”

Claire raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Of course, I'm sorry if it's a sensitive topic. I didn't mean to pry.”

“'S okay.”

“What happened? How did you get here?”

“I died and woke up in an alley. And before, at home, I was in a car wreck. I think I died there too, and then I woke up in the Westerlands.”

“ _Dios mío_ ,” Claire breathed again.

“Yeah.” Moira drained her frizzy drink and flagged down the waitress for a refill, avoiding Claire's eyes.

“So, what do you want from me?” Claire asked after the waitress that left Moira's new drink. “What can I possibly do for you? I mean, this is kind of out of my extra of expertise.”

“You, yourself? Probably nothing.” Moira shoved more fries into her mouth. “But you're connected. You know a lot of, shall we say, _special_ people.” Fili noticed the emphasis Moira put on the word 'special', and remembered Claire causally asking if she could read minds. What sort of world WAS this? “I think, if anyone here can help me, it would be Iron Man and Bruce Banner. I want to science this thing and make it stop.”

Claire nodded in understanding. “I have a friend who might be able to introduce you to Stark.”

 _Stark?_ Fili mouthed the word in surprise, but Moira was unfazed.

“You mean Danny Rand, right?”

Claire gave her a sharp look. “You know about him too?”

“Do you mean that he's super-rich and can get me to Stark? Or that he's the immortal Iron First, guardian of Kun Lun? Yup, I know all about him.”

Fili raised an eyebrow at her comment. They had immortals here? Funny, Iron Fist didn't sound like an Elvish name at all. In fact Ironfist was the name of one of the Seven Clans of the Dwarves, although that particular clan was not on good terms with Durin's Folk.

“Of course you do.” Claire was smiling wryly.

Moira shoveled more curly fries into her mouth, finally cleaning her plate. “I like Jessica Jones better though. Danny's kind of boring for a superhero.” She stated matter-of-factly.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

Fili heard the door slam loudly before he could process where he was. Moira came stalking away from the door that she had just violently shut. She looked furious. She went to a strange cupboard that was making a low humming noise, opened it and looked inside – Fili saw food stored inside and felt the blast of cold air from it. She dug around in it for a few moments, before she seemed to change her mind, closing the door roughly. She looked for something, rummaging in another cabinet (this one didn't make noise or pour coldness from it when opened), and pulled out what was clearly a bottle of some kind of liqueur.

“JARVIS, play it.” she commanded the empty air as she roughly opened the bottle and took a deep gulp.

Fili nearly jumped out of his skin when a disembodied voice responded to her. “I don't know if that's a good idea, Amber.”

“Did I _ask_ what you thought?”

“I don't believe this is the healthiest of pastimes,” the rather genteel-sounding voice argued with her. “Considering your … history.”

"I DON'T CARE! You're not even real! Tony made you make his life easier, and by extension, all of staying here in Stark Tower.”

So it had worked then. Claire's friend had introduced her to this “Stark” person. Fili was just glad she wasn't living on the street anymore.

“Play it, JARVIS.” Moira was growling angrily. _“Now!!”_

The disembodied voice made a loud, audible sigh. “As you wish.”

Fili's shock grew as flickering images began to play across the wall she faced, music and voices coming from unseen speakers. It wasn't that the images moved that was shocking; Fili had realized that this was one of the worlds which Moira had said was more technologically advanced than his own. No, what shocked Fili was that the images were of Jaime. Claire had clearly known at least a little about Westeros, and Fili had to assume that it was some kind of tale here. But to actually _see_ it was another thing entirely. The story of the war in Westeros played out, a long 'playlist' of 'fanvideos' and 'video tributes' to the Lannisters, and especially to Jaime. Well, it told the story of _**a**_ war in Westeros. The flickering images told a markedly different story than the one that Fili had witnessed Moira experience.

“Jaime ….” Fili's attention was drawn back to Moira at the small sob. Her knees were drawn up to her chest now, and the bottle of liquor was half-gone. Tears were streaming down her face. “Maybe you were supposed to meet her.” She was speaking to the 'screen' as Jaime talked with a tall, blonde woman in armor. Fili frowned. A female knight? He hadn't seen any female warriors in Westeros. “Maybe I fucked up your entire timeline. I'm sorry.”

A knock came. Moira roused herself and stumbled to the door. Behind it stood a man with caramel-colored skin and dark, curly hair, wearing a light purple button-up shirt. He was half-turned to leave, as if he hadn't expected Moira to answer the door. He turned back now.

“Are you alright?” The man was soft-spoken and his dark eyes were full of concern.

Moira, however, was pissed. “Did JARVIS call you here?”

“No. Should he have?”

“He thinks so apparently.”

“Can I come in?”

“Not if you're going to lecture me, Bruce.”

So this was one of the men that Moira thought would be able to help her.

A small, sad smile played on Bruce's lips. “I won't.”

“Fine.” Moira stood aside, gesturing with the bottle of liquor in her hand. “Come on in. Observe your experiment in her not-so-natural habitat.”

The caramel-skinned man frowned as he entered. “Amber, you're not just an experiment.”

She snorted as she shut the door. “I am to Tony.”

“He doesn't mean that. That's just Tony being Tony.”

“Yeah, whatever. You want a drink?” she offered while stalking to the bar, retrieving another bottle and a couple of tiny glass cups this time. She plopped on the ground in front of the long bar and leant her back against it. She laid the little glasses on the carpet in front of her, and poured the gold-colored alcohol into them. “Come on, Bruce. You wanted in. Are you gonna drink with me or not?”

“Sure.” Bruce came and sat next to her on the ground, taking one of the glasses as she picked hers up. They clicked their mini-glasses together, and downed them at the same time. He leaned back against the bar beside her and silently watched the images and music playing across the wall with her, drinking whenever she handed him another refill of the tiny glasses. Finally he spoke, his voice soft. “You knew him, I assume?” As he spoke he kept his eyes on the moving images, not on Moira.

“I loved him.” Moira confessed. “And he loved me. You can make all the incest jokes you want, I don't care.”

“I wasn't going to.”

“He was a better man than people gave him credit for.” Moira cringed as the moving image of Jaime on the wall had his hand cut off, a scream of pain echoing through the room for a moment before the scene changed once more. “I changed that part of the story.” She waved the bottle in the direction of the 'television'.

Bruce was patient, letting her talk. He didn't ask her any questions or hurry her. He just gave her the support of his calm presence. “I died in his arms.” She collected herself for a moment, visibly forcing herself to be composed, before continuing. “It was particularly cruel of Cersei to kill me that way. Jaime held their 14-year-old daughter in his arms as she died, after that Dornish _**bitch**_ poisoned her. I still haven't figured out if Cersei was trying to punish him for leaving her, or if she hoped that he wouldn't realize it was poison and would think it was a lingering sickness. If I was a little older, it might have worked. Tears of Lys is a much slower acting poison than the one used on his daughter. But for him to lose me like _that_ , after Joffery and Myrcella …” she swallowed and shook her head.

“He deserved better. He deserved better than Cersei, of course, but that's not a very high bar. I manipulated him to stay alive. I needed a protector in that world, there was no chance for me on my own. I couldn't tell Jaime the truth about me. He'd probably think I was insane. It was obvious that I was foreigner, and I had some knowledge of his world, but not enough to actually get by. So I ended up saying that I had memory problems from the beating Theon had given me when I first arrived. It made the most sense.”

She looked down now, looking deep into the amber-colored alcohol as she swirled the bottle, and her eyes were glistening, as if she were fighting off tears. “I tried telling him the truth one night when I got drunk. It … didn't go well. So in the morning I pretended I didn't remember.” She drew in a shaky breath and forced herself to continue. “I had no one but him, so I clung to him, and if he thought I was mad he'd drop me like I a hot potato. The memory loss was a better story, made him feel pity, feel responsible for me.” She swallowed.

“When we got to King's Landing, he arranged to have me work as a handmaiden for one of the ladies of the court. If we had ended our relationship then and I just did my duties quietly, maybe I would have had a longer life.” She shrugged. “But it _was_ Westeros, so who the fuck knows?”

She gulped down several more swallows of the liquor. “I've died. Twice now, Bruce. _Twice._ And each time I woke up somewhere else, somewhere that's supposed to be fictional. And I don't know _why_.”

“Tony and I are doing everything we can do figure it out.”

“Uh huh.” Moira threw aside the first bottle of liqueur, which was empty now. It made a dull thud on the thick carpet. She pulled out the second bottle and wrenched off the lid, taking a swig directly from the bottle.

“We escaped Robb Stark's encampment early enough to set up a butterfly effect throughout Westeros. There was still that whole Red Wedding debacle, but this time it was _after_ Joffery's poisoning, during _Tommen's_ reign. I made the War of Five Kings last longer than it should have. When we escaped, it meant that Karstarks never had a reason to kill the Lannister kids that Robb had as prisoners, meaning Robb never executed the Karstark patriarch – I don't remember the jerk's name, meaning that Robb never lost the loyalty of the Karstark men. It was over 4,000 soldiers if I remember right. Turns out that was enough to change the history of war. Far, far people died than needed to, just because I was there and I changed events. Mostly on the Lannister side.”

Her voice became plaintive, and Fili could see the muscles of her face working in a desperate effort to hold back the tears in her eyes. He began to realize the heaviness of this burden, of the difficulty of having foreknowledge and of predicting the spiraling of events when one thread is pulled out of the tapestry. He felt even more sympathy for her, which he hadn't thought would be possible.

“Even with the Karstarks still on his side, eventually Robb had to go crawling back to the Freys. But it was almost a year after the point when it had happened in the books and the show. That old pervert _**really**_ holds a grudge. But in the meantime, since Robb was still alive, the war continued, and the Lannisters took heavy losses. He almost took Casterly Rock from them. Countless boys died that wouldn't have if I hadn't been there. Kids, really. Smallfolk – peasants – they all died because of _me_.”

“I'm sure that wasn't your intention.”

“Of course not. I was just trying to survive. Westeros is _brutal_.”

“I'm sorry you had to go through that.” Bruce's voice was quiet and sincere. “I can't imagine what that must have been like.”

Moira changed the subject. “Did you get the results of the latest test?”

“....Yes.” Bruce answered with obvious reluctance.

“And?”

“And … they didn't reveal anything significantly different between you and any other person. Going by those tests alone, you're a perfectly normal 27-year-old woman.”

A deep sigh. “That's what I thought.” More swigs of the alcohol.

“We'll figure it out, Amber, I promise.”

“So, what's next?”

“We've done all the noninvasive procedures. The others … will be more painful. A spinal tap, to start with. See if there's something different about your spinal fluid.”

“Okay. Anything to stop this. More rum?”

**............................................................................................................................................................**

The spinal tap had indeed been painful for her. So had various other procedures. They had also been fruitless. Fili watched Moira's growing frustration and alienation from her few friends in this world, dispute the overtures made by the scientist named Bruce, as well as a red-headed woman named Natasha, and a blonde man called 'boyscout' by Tony and Steve by everyone else, all of whom seemed very sympathetic to Moira's plight. Moira clashed with the one called Tony often. Fili didn't know if it stemmed more from his infuriating and arrogant attitude, which was likely to remind her of Jaime at his most flippant, or the fact that his last name was _Stark_.

Moira died from the random violence of a botched robbery attempt, in a high-class store that she had been coaxed into on a rare shopping trip by Natasha and Tony's paramour Pepper. The irony was as bitter-tasting in Fili's mouth as he imagined that the moon tea had been in Moira's, back in Westeros. The bullets from the weapon she had called a 'gun' had carved their way into her soft belly in the blink of a eye. She wasn't a warrior here, far from it. The gun killed with surprising speed and efficiency, her bright red blood pooling around her despite Pepper's attempts to staunch the flow as Natasha moved to ruthlessly dispatch the criminals. Moira's bitter laughter had unnerved her accidental killers and her comrades alike. Her lips twisted into a cutting, humorless smirk that reminded Fili of her ill-fated lover in Westeros. He recognized that smirk, and realized that innocent Amber was taking yet another step to becoming jaded Moira. Fili's heart ached for her more than it ever had.

He heard a sob then. Fili raised his eyes to seek out the source of the sound, which was a little girl, small for a child of Man, several paces away. She was wearing a thin nightgown, clutching a stuffed rabbit and watching the unfolding scene with wide eyes. Stranger still, Natasha and Pepper were completely ignoring the child, as if she wasn't there. After a moment Fili realized something that jolted him to his core. _She sees me_. The girl's scared, dark brown eyes met his. But before he could decide what to do about it, Memory-Moira died, and the blackness took her, and by extension, Fili.

**................................................................................................................................................................**

The next world was one that was easier for Fili to understand. The hulking metal creatures that Moira had called 'cars' did not exist, nor did the vast repositories of knowledge called 'computers' (which had, oddly, been used mostly for gossip and cat videos as far as Fili could tell, except for when Moira obsessed over Jaime). When the land she had awoken in was named 'Camelot' by someone she questioned, Moira visibly perked up. She started to ask where she could find sorcerers, and was always met with a horrified hush and suspicious looks. She obviously hoped to stop her curse with magic, since science had proved so ineffective in the last world.

But the stories about Camelot must have portrayed something different wherever she was from, because she soon found that magic was outlawed there. She was similarly shocked to find that this famous wizard named 'Merlin' was a skinny servant boy to Prince – not King – Arthur. It was Arthur, and Morgana the ward of his father, who convinced Uther Pendragon that Moira was not a sorceress, but a _victim_ of magic. Pushed into it by Merlin, Arthur kept her from being burned. But Uther insisted that she still be punished for attempting to find and work with magic-users. She was publicly flogged, her back ripped open by the force of 20 lashes, a warning to others who might seek to bring magic back to Camelot.

After her public humiliation, she was treated by the court physician, Gaius. While healing she shared a room with Merlin, her cot on the opposite side of the small servant's quarters. For propriety's sake the heavy door was removed. Although Merlin showed her kindness and frequently joked with her, there was no sign of attraction between the two. Not that anyone seemed to care about the honor of a foreign girl who had already been publicly shamed. Moira still had nowhere to go. Survival forced her to become a servant to the very man who had ordered her to be whipped.

Fili searched for the little girl he had seen by Moira's side when she had died in what Moira had called the 'Marvelverse'. When he had racked his memory, he remembered Moira's first night in Westeros. Specifically that when she had been dragged beaten and bloody before King Robb, there was a similar child flitting at the back of the tent, ignored by all. Fili was certain now that it was same girl. Moreover, she looked like Moira, or what Fili imagined Moira might have looked like as a child. Gandalf had said that he could meet parts of Moira's personality split into representations, and Fili was certain that this child was some piece of her broken psyche. More than all that, she was the only person he had seen who had responded to his presence. But no matter how hard he tried to find her, the apparition of the girl-child did not appear again. Eventually he gave up seeking her out, and had to decide that when she did appear again – for he was certain that she _would_ appear again – he would not hesitate to approach her.

Moira – or Amber, rather – was still in love with Jaime, but Fili recognized that she was letting him go when she advised a fellow servant girl, Gwen, to not act on her (quite mutual) feelings for Prince Arthur. “Stupid noble boys will always chase the maids, Gwen.” She advised her friend. “They don't think about the consequences. It's not in their nature. You can't really blame them. The consequences don't ever really apply to them. We're the ones who will always be picking up the pieces of our broken hearts.”

Moira didn't last long there. She quickly tired of the watching Uther Pendragon persecute and kill any who may have had magic or consorted with magic-users. Of watching her friend Merlin hide the fact that he was born with magic. All the while knowing that the Prince who he would do anything for (and whom Moira suspected he was half in love with, if her pointed teasing was any indication) would have him executed if he knew. A terrifying encounter with a Witchfinder who looked remarkably like Tywin Lannister didn't help matters, nor the fact that he nearly had both Moira and Gaius burned at the stake. In all of Camelot, Gaius and Merlin had been the kindest people to Moira. Although they couldn't risk trying to break her curse, they were aware that she came from another world. She didn't have to hide from them. Nearly being burned to death beside her father-figure drove her from the dubious safety of Camelot.

Moira ran away to try to find the Druids, who were known to take in those who were afflicted with various kinds of magic, both those gifted with innate powers and those cursed by enchanters. But she never found them, and so of course, was never released from her curse. Her death came from being mauled by a monstrous magical creature that haunted the woods the Druids were said to reside in. _At least she hadn't burned_ was all that Fili could think as he watched her die again, alone and terrified on the cold, hard ground in a dark wood. He knelt beside her, silent tears running down his face as he bore witness to her demise, yet again. 

That was the last world she used her real name in. She was never 'Amber' again. Fili began to understand why her first instinct was always to lie. Her experiences had taught her that the truth was dangerous. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So, in case this was too trippy to understand completely, thought I'd include a few notes at the end here. I had to do some math. This is a rough estimate since she isn't sure herself how long it's been. But assuming its been 150 years since this started, and she's lived in 24 worlds (that includes her “home universe” and Middle-Earth) minus the 50 years she spent in Viking World, that makes 100ish years divided by 21 worlds. Which equals 4.76 years in each. Meaning she spent an AVERAGE of five years in each world. Remember that a few of them she only lasted a few months or weeks in (and Merlin was only a little over a year). So some would be longer, some closer to ten years.
> 
>  **Game of Thrones.** Moira shows up in Westeros at the very beginning of Book/Season 2. And completely derails the events of Westeros by escaping with Jamie before Catelyn sends Brienne to take him back (before Catelyn even goes to Renly's camp and meets Brienne). But they don't get to King's Landing until the Battle of the Blackwater (which Jaime fights in alongside his father), so the events in King's Landing are the same in season 2. Anything after that is changed at least a little, because Jaime got back to King's Landing a year earlier. (No Qyburn, no Zombie Mountain, for one).  
>  Also, when Moira tells Claire she was there for five years. She dies somewhere at the beginning of Season 7. Tommen is dead and Cersei is Queen, but this is before SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER Jaime faces the Dragon when Dany attacks the Lannister army coming from Highgarden.  
> It's hard to tell just how much time passes on GoT, and fans have worked out various answers that range from only three years to closer to six years. But I ultimately went with this one:  
> www.popsugar.com/entertainment/Game-Thrones-Timeline-43760932  
> (Man, I've been putting an insane amount of work into this, haven't I?)  
> Now, since I think I should give credit where credit is due, the beginning of Moira's story in Game of Thrones is actually inspired by _Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent_ by Laila Burns  
>  www.fanfiction.net/s/8229907/1/Now-Is-The-Winter-Of-Our-Discontent  
> It was the first “modern girl wakes up in Westeros” story I read. There aren't a lot of those, but they exist. I read this one a long time ago and it took me a while to hunt down the link (and it appears to have been abandoned, unfortunately), but I really felt I should give the author her due, and it was kind of what started this idea in my head. So, thanks Laila! I hope you don't mind me borrowing part of Ada's backstory.
> 
>  **Marvelverse**. Second world she was in, directly after Westeros. She was not very consequential to events there. She worked hard to get in good with the Avengers only because she was hoping that Tony and Bruce could figure out what was happening to her. I haven't decided if she ever met Thor yet, but I'm thinking no (I didn't want to address the theological issues of her meeting a version of Thor before she becomes Viking and starts worshiping Thor and Odin, et al), which would place her time there sometime between the first and second Avengers movies.
> 
>  **Merlin**. I decided that the TV show Merlin doesn't exist in Moira's original world. (She leaves and dies before the Great Dragon gets loose in the finale of Season 2, so that Smaug is still the first Dragon she's faced). Also, yes, I put hints of Merlin/Arthur in there ;).
> 
> Legend of the Seeker/Sword of Truth doesn't exist in Moira's original world either. It gives her too much of an advantage if she knows about all the fictional places she's been to as soon as she gets there. I decided that she recognizes Game of Thrones, the Marvelverse, Lord of the Rings, the first 5 seasons of Supernatural (I wanted her to understand the world but not what was coming), and Star Wars. That's it.
> 
> And obviously Fili's adventures in her brain are going to take longer than one chapter. She's been through a lot of shit by now. Now, the reason I was able to get this chapter out so quickly is because I've been working on it for MONTHS. Sorry, but the second part is probably going to be a much longer time before I can update, might be a whole month or so. Sorry, I'm trying to make this good.


	32. Fragmented Mind, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO, SO, SO UNBELIEVABLY MUCH to my long-suffering beta, **Rogue of the North** from ff.net! Seriously, girl, you are Awesome Incarnate, and it has been such a huge help to have you to bounce ideas off of! 
> 
> Okay, I know it's been like 2 and a half months since an update, and I'm sorry. This story has gotten intense, and the flashback chapters are becoming fics-within-a-fic almost. I'm actually going to be moving soon, so it might be even longer between chapter 33. (UGH) Although I've also been working on chapter 33 at the same time as this one, so maybe not. I dunno, we'll see. No promises.
> 
>  **A correction is needed:** So far in my story, I have said that Kattegatt is in Sweden and referred to Moira's Viking life as being in Sweden. Errrrrr yeah, turns out that was totally wrong and it's supposed to be Norway, at least on the show. See, the real, historical Kattegatt, was somewhere between Sweden and Denmark, and I looked it up. But in the third or fourth season of Vikings they stated that Kattegatt is in Norway … so that's why I got confused! OOPS. I'm going to go back and edit all the references in the past chapters to change “Sweden” to “Norway”, but I didn't want to do that until this chapter came out because it might be confusing if it just happened all of a sudden!
> 
>  **A Note About Languages:** I'm aware that it's the 9th century, and what Athelstan actually speaks is Anglo-Saxon, and that Ye Olde English is actually _farther_ from modern English than Old Norse is from modern Scandinavian languages. However, I'm ignoring that, and making Athelstan's native language English. Because I have too many different languages to learn. Come on, people, I'm already attempting to teach myself Khuzdul, Sindarian, and Old Norse, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME???!!! :: sobs heavily :: (put down the Mountain Dew, girl, back away slowly from the Mountain Dew).
> 
>  **A Note About Norse Last Names:** In 4th season of the Vikings TV show, they treated “Lothbrok” as if it was a last name that was passed down when someone one referred to Ivar as “Ivar Lothbrok”. This is WRONG WRONG WRONG and I will not be doing it here. Lothbrok is a nickname that means “Shaggy pants”, because in the sagas Ragnar wore goatskin pants that were distinctive (thankfully the show didn't do that because he'd look like he was cosplaying as a satyr). It would be like Björn's nickname “Ironside” being inheritable, which it isn't.  
>  Your last name was based on who your parents were and didn't change when you were married. Aslaug is still Aslaug Sigurdsdottir, even after marrying Ragnar. And although you'd usually refer to yourself as the son or daughter of your father, it was not exclusive. If you were visiting your mother's family and you hadn't seen them in a while, you might emphasize your kinship by introducing yourself as the son/daughter of your mother instead of your father. Or if your father had fallen out of favor or was dishonored in the eyes of the community or something. This is what happened with Loki, when he goes by Loki Laufeyson among the Aesir (Marvel confuses the issue by making Laufey a dude, when in the sagas His mother is an Aesir named Laufey. His dad is still Jotunn, making saga-Loki half-Ice Giant.) Moira used Aslaugdottir as her last name during her Viking life because she is much closer to her adoptive mother than her father, even though she was still Ragnar's adoptive daughter, she could be introduced as “Brenna Ragnarsdottir”, but it was a personal choice, especially because Aslaug was the one who wanted to adopt her in the first place and Ragnar just kind of went along with it.
> 
> Also, technically a Jarl and an Earl is the same thing/position/rank. But in the show, Jarl Borg is always spelled and pronounced with a "J" and every other Earl with an "E". I have no idea WHY they did this, but I stuck with it anyway.  
> Okay, sorry, pointless rant/history lesson over.

[](https://imgur.com/cfNiDtv)

After running from Camelot and dying in her search for the Druids, Moira awoke in the middle of a blinding winter storm, freezing snow whipping at her short-again hair and stinging her eyes. Fili guessed that this was Norway and the beginning of her Viking life. She stumbled around for a while, looking for shelter, struggling to push her way through snow drifts up to her waist. She was shaking from the cold, teeth chattering, lips and fingertips blue, tears freezing on her cheeks.

Finally, she stumbled into a line of houses, literally crashing into the first person she saw and falling face-first into the snow. After that, the world was blurry, slipping into and out of blackness as she regained and then lost consciousness. Fili saw her being carried by a bearded man, and then stripped, rubbed down, and wrapped in furs next to a roaring fire by a blonde girl in rough-spun clothes, before she succumbed to the weakness in her limbs.

When Moira awoke again, there was a woman sitting at her bedside. This one was more richly dressed than the first she had seen. Her light brown hair was wavy and flowed past her waist. She was clearly the lady of the house, versus the servant girl Moira had briefly seen before. Her high cheekbones and sharp features gave her beauty a look of almost dangerous intelligence, which was also reflected in her kohl-rimmed, pale blue eyes. When she spoke, her voice had a soothing cadence, but Fili didn't understand the words.

_“It's okay. You're safe now. You are in Kattegatt. I am Aslaug. What is your name?”_

The confusion on Moira's face showed that she didn't comprehend her meaning either. “I … I don't understand …”

The woman's brow furrowed. _“You don't speak our language?”_

The woman sitting by Moira's bedside placed her hand on her chest. “Aslaug.” She gestured towards Moira now, asking her name.

“Ummmm...” After floundering for a moment, she answered “Morgana.” Aslaug raised an elegantly arched eyebrow at this, as if she knew it was a lie.

“ _Are you hungry_ , Morgana?”

When Moira shrugged, signaling her confusion, Aslaug mimed lifting something to her mouth and chewing. Moira nodded.

“ _Mama_?” Just then, a small, blond boy toddled his way into the room. He stopped when he saw Moira and hid his face behind his hands.

“ _Come, Ubbe, don't be shy_ ,” Aslaug called the boy over. He climbed into Aslaug's lap, and she placed her hand on his small chest and looked at Moira, saying, “Ubbe.”

“Hi, Ubbe,” Moira greeted him with a smile.

“ _This is_ Morgana.” Aslaug was speaking to the child, sweeping a lock of hair behind his ear as she did so. “ _She is going to stay with us for a while. But she doesn't speak our language, so we must be patient with her. Can you do that_?”

Ubbe nodded. Aslaug stood, scooping up the boy. “ _We'll be back with some food for you_.” she addressed Moira. Not that either she or Fili knew what she said.

................................................................................................................................................................  


Over the next two months, Moira made an effort to learn the Viking tongue, but her understanding was broken. It wasn't until the unseasonably cold fall weather briefly let up and the men returned from raiding east into Russia that things started to change. A cry from near the water went up. _“The ships are back! The men are back!”_

Kattegatt exploded into chaos as people rushed to the fjord to greet the returning ships. Moira hung back and watched the spectacle. People and goods flowed off the ships, husbands and wives were embracing, children running to find their fathers.

Moira was finally introduced to Ragnar. He was tall, strong, and most of all had Presence, that unnameable aura of command that demanded respect and attention be paid to him, the kind that was rare and only held by true leaders. The most captivating thing about him was the obvious intelligence and curiosity that shone in his blue eyes. The stormy blue color of Fili and Thorin's eyes were rare among Dwarves, but nearly all of these Vikings were light-haired and light-eyed. Moira, with her dark coloring, most have looked quite exotic to them. At Ragnar's side was another bearded man, shorter, slight, with fairer skin than most Vikings. He had a strangely serene aura, clear blue eyes, and long black hair.

When they met, he greeted her first in the Viking tongue. “ _I'm told you mysteriously stumbled into Kattegatt one day in the middle of a snowstorm. Where do you come from_?”

“Nice to meet you, although I have very little idea what you just said. I can only point out a few nouns in Norse. I only understood _Kattegatt_ and _snow_.”

Then the black-haired man did something that surprised both Moira and Fili.

“You speak English?” he asked.  


Moira's eyes went wide. “You – You understood me?!”

“Yes.” The dark-haired man smiled gently. “My name is Athelstan. I was once a monk at Lindisfarne, before I came to live here.”

Moira clasped his hand, grinning at finally being understood. “I'm called Morgana.”

......................................................................................................................................................................  


Under Athelstan's tutelage Moira picked up the language much quicker, although it was still difficult. Instead of fumbling around pointing at objects and having Aslaug say the words for them, she was actually able to ask Athelstan questions, as well as learn the correct verbs and grammar.

The longhouse was often crowded in winter. Vikings appeared to indulge in drinking and feasting with nearly as much gusto as Dwarves, and Moira had apparently not yet acquired the discomfort around crowds that Fili was so used to seeing her display. In fact she seemed unusually comfortable here, among these people. It could be because Aslaug had taken a clear interest in her, which led all the other Vikings to treat her with respect. Still, everyone got restless near the end of winter. As soon as the ice thawed in early spring and it was tolerable to spend long periods of time outdoors without being layered in heavy furs, many of the men, boys, and some of the women spent hours outside training with axes, swords, shields, and bows and arrows. After watching the others spar for a few days, she leapt down into the fighting pit excitedly, demanding to participate.

Moira was used to fighting with daggers and short swords, as Jaime had taught her. In Camelot she had even sparred with Prince Arthur a few times, late in the evening when the training grounds were otherwise deserted, before Uther had put a stop to that. Using hand-axes and wooden shields was a new method she was not familiar with, but she was determined to learn. She picked it up quickly, much quicker than she was learning the language. She had natural skill in this area, and from Jaime had learned the basis of fighting forms that would help her learn other styles with application. When she was knocked down – and she made it clear she didn't want the trainer to hold back – she always got back up. Fili wasn't sure if the Viking would have held back even if she wanted him to. They seemed to take this very, very seriously, and from what he could see the women who chose to train were treated no differently than the men. Fili couldn't contain his grin when, after months of grueling practice, she beat the snot out of one of the trainers, while she still could barely speak their language. During many of the training sessions, Aslaug stood watching from the doorway, an expression of pride on her face.

......................................................................................................................................................................  


It was winter again. Moira sat by the fire in the longhouse. Aslaug stood behind her, braiding her now-longer hair into thick plaits. Moira still spoke their language with an accent, but she no longer had any trouble communicating.

“Aslaug, could you give me a Viking name?”

“What's wrong with Morgana?”

“It …. brings back bad memories.”

“Who is Morgana?” Aslaug asked. “That was not the name your mother gave you.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. Are you running from something?”

Moira didn't answer.

“Will you tell me your real name?”

“Doesn't matter. I'm not that girl anymore. She's dead.” Moira stared straight ahead, blinking. Aslaug's fingers stilled, and Moira continued, “I'll never be that helpless little girl again. But being called Morgana ... that's the name of someone I knew that I don't want to remember. I feel new here. I'm … happy. I want a new name to reflect that.” She twisted around now, looking up into Aslaug's pale blue eyes imploringly. “Will you name me, Aslaug?”

Aslaug smiled gently. “How about … Brenna?”

Moira smiled. “I like it. What does it mean?”

“'Fiery'.”

......................................................................................................................................................................  


Kattegatt was in chaos. Not the happy chaos that had erupted when the men had returned from Russia. No, this was panic. Fili saw that right away. They were under attack. Moira ran into the longhouse at the same time as Rollo, Ragnar's disgraced brother who had been left behind when the rest of the fighting men had gone to England.

“Rollo, what is it?” Aslaug demanded, arms draped around Ubbe and Hvitserk. “What is happening?”

“Jarl Borg! He has come back to attack us.”

“Jarl Borg?” Aslaug's voice had a tinge of panic to it.

“I'm sure it is him.” Rollo responded as he looked for a sword. “Ragnar and King Horik broke their agreement with him. He has returned to gain his revenge.”

“What are we going to do?” Aslaug asked fearfully.

“What do you think we're going to do?” Panting, Rollo turned swiftly and strode out of the longhouse when he had found a weapon. “We're going to fight.”

Aslaug herded her boys away as Moira grabbed a sword of her own and followed Rollo down to the waterfront. Rollo barked orders to the men who had been left behind, telling them which positions to take. Women rolled barrels to help with the barricades. Just then, Siggy, the widow of the last Earl and Rollo's lover, came out, looking awkward in leather armor and carrying a shield and ax.

“What are you doing?” Rollo demanded.

“What does it look like?” she snapped.

“Not you. You are not a shield-maiden. You're not...”

“Siggy, have you ever fought at all?” Moira asked.

The uncertainty in her green eyes showed plainly that no, she hadn't. But she protested, “This is my home!”

Rollo held her face tenderly with one hand. “Siggy, I need you to go back to the great hall. Find Princess Aslaug and her children and take them up into the mountains.”

“And then what?”

“Wait.”

Moira backed off, going to the water to assist with the barricades, giving the lovers a moment alone. Fili saw the fear on her face, and he realized suddenly that this was going to be her first true battle. In Westeros she had fought with Jaime against Northern soldiers, but they had mostly just hid on their way south. Of course, now among these Vikings, she _was_ a Northman, although of a different kind and in a different world. Fate was strange, Fili mused.

They fought bravely. But other than Rollo, few of the men left behind were fighting fit. Most were old, or sickly, or very, very young. Many of the best weapons had gone with Ragnar and Horik to England as well, meaning that some of those defending Kattegatt were armed only with pitchforks. They were pushed back, over and over, swarmed with fighting men from Jarl Borg's land. They were not as disadvantaged as those from Kattegatt.

Eventually, Rollo, Moira, and a few of Kattegatt's defenders were pinned down in a small fish-hut beside the market square.

“You can't win, Rollo!” The voice of Jarl Borg sailed over a small fire burning in the courtyard. Moira peeked out and quickly withdrew when an arrow was loosed at her head. She had lost her shield in the melee. The courtyard was filled with the orange-and-black shields of Jarl Borg's men. They were badly outnumbered.

“What do we do?” she whispered to Ragnar's brother. Rollo looked uncertain. An old, grizzled warrior seemed to see something in his eyes that Moira did not, and he placed his hand on Rollo's shoulder and looked up into his eyes.

“There is no disgrace in the eyes of the Gods to save yourself for another day, Rollo. Your first duty is to try and save the sons of Ragnar. Take Aslaug's girl,” he nodded towards Moira as he said that. “Rollo, go! I will tell the Gods what you have done here today.”

Rollo nodded, clasping the other man's forearm. The old warrior and a few others marched out into the courtyard to face Jarl Borg and his men alone. Rollo and Moira could hear the sounds of their slaughter as they slipped out the back.

......................................................................................................................................................................  


It took Rollo and Moira a few days to find the others in the mountains, and when they did, the next several months were spent on the run. They found an abandoned farmhouse, where they took up residence. It was a hard adjustment for Aslaug, who was a Princess raised in luxury. She had protested to Rollo, saying it looked disgusting and they should try to find some Earl's hall – but as Rollo had pointed out, even if they found an ally, _somebody_ in this hypothetical Earl's hall would send word to Jarl Borg within a day. “We'll survive this,” Siggy and Moira told her. “It'll make you stronger. It will make your sons stronger, as well.”

Aslaug did not seem to believe them at first, but there was no choice. Winter was coming, and they needed shelter, a roof, a hearth fire. Aslaug was not happy about sharing the house with the goats and the chickens, but she persevered. It was necessary.

There were several farming families that were willing to fight with Ragnar's family against Jarl Borg. It was not enough men to win back Kattegatt, but it was enough to mount a small resistance, to torment the new ruler. With Rollo as their leader, these few loyal men mounted raids on his outposts, disrupted supplies, kept the memory of Ragnar alive while he was in England. Sometimes Moira went with them, and sometimes she stayed behind, just in case Jarl Borg discovered where Aslaug was hiding while they waited for her husband to return. In this desperate time, Aslaug and Moira naturally grew closer. It was sometime during their temporarily exile that Aslaug decided that she wanted to adopt Moira, but she didn't know that then.

......................................................................................................................................................................  


One day, Ragnar returned, racing ahead of a few of his men, ax in hand, eyes wild. When word had come to England's shores, he had of course raced back as quickly as he could. Athelstan had chosen to stay behind to translate for King Horik and King Ecbert of Wessex, to try to mediate a peace in Ragnar's absence. On their way back to Norway, Ragnar's fleet had been struck by a fearsome storm and many of his men drowned. His most trusted friend, Floki the boat-builder, had survived, but few others. They were still outnumbered. But at least Moira's family was complete again. Not long after their reunion, an ally arrived at the farmhouse. Moira came running inside, saying that there was a long line of warriors outside. When the leader of the warriors came in, Rollo grasped the hand of the beautiful blonde woman in leather armor. “Lagertha, you're the last person I expected to see here. You and your warriors are as welcome to us as spring after the hardest and most bitter winter.”

_Huh. _Fili thought. So this was Ragnar's ex-wife. As a Dwarf, his kind only married once. The entire concept of an ex-wife was completely foreign to him. He wondered how Aslaug and Lagertha were going to get along.__

____

Lagertha smiled. “Rollo, my son and I are only too glad to come to Ragnar's aid.”

Rollo looked to the young man behind Lagertha,who towered over the both of them. “Freyja and all the Gods, Björn, you're a big bastard now!” he laughed.

“Thank you, Uncle.” Björn smiled.

Rollo grasped the blond peach-fuzz of his nephew's cheek. “Still can't grow a beard, though.” Lagertha and Siggy embraced next, and old friends who had not seen each other in years greeted each other. Through it all, Moira stood loyally beside Aslaug, who was holding baby Sigurd. Ubbe and Hvitserk stood between them.

“I am grateful to see you.” Aslaug bowed her head towards Lagertha when she approached.

“Thank you, Princess Aslaug. I brought shieldmaidens to help us in our cause.”

Aslaug nudged Moira forward. “Brenna is a shieldmaiden as well.”

Moira blushed and looked down, mumbling, “I don't know if I am.”

“Come, come, don't sell yourself short.” Aslaug clucked her tongue at Moira's sudden shyness. “Rollo says you fought bravely when Jarl Borg took Kattegatt.”

Lagertha grasped Moira's arm and looked into the shorter woman's eyes. “I am happy to know you.”

Björn simply nodded at each of them in greeting, saying, “Princess. Brenna.”

Aslaug continued with the introductions, nudging the boys forward. “My sons: Ubbe and Hvitserk.”

Lagertha took a knee to meet the chubby-cheeked toddlers face-to-face.“I am pleased to see you. I always knew that, some day, I would meet some more of Ragnar's sons.”

The always-friendly Hvitserk asked, “How did you know?”

“The Gods told me.” When she stood again, the warrior woman asked, “And you have a baby? May I?”

Aslaug passed the bundle to the blonde. “His name is Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye.”

“After your father?”

“And after his own father.”

Ragnar came striding in from outside. “Enough with the pleasantries, let's make a plan.” Lagertha returned the baby to Aslaug, striding over to the table where Ragnar's warriors were gathered. When Aslaug nodded to her, Moira joined them.

Lagertha clutched the back of a chair as she stood. “So?"

“Even with your additional forces, Lagertha, we cannot attack Kattegatt and hope to succeed. Jarl Borg is well dug in,” One of the blond men said – Torstein, if Fili remembered correctly.

“Then what's our plan?” Moira asked.

“We want to drive Jarl Borg out of Kattegatt. He has no idea we have been reinforced,” Rollo said.

Torstein was still skeptical. “And what would make him leave Kattegatt, where he can winter in safety?”

Rollo smiled before responding, “The one thing that would threaten his whole existence there.”

Floki, the half-mad boat-builder and mystic, asked, “And what would that be?” with a smirk in his voice.

“Food,” Rollo said simply. “A few of us will go into the town and destroy the winter grain stores.”

“I will go,” Floki immediately volunteered.

Moira piped up, “No, let me go. I'm small, fast, and agile. I can sneak along easier than any of you big lumbering guys.”

There was some laughter at that.

“No,” Ragnar said after some thought. “My son and I shall go. We'll only need a few men.” To Moira he said, “But if you are so eager for battle, you may fight alongside us when Jarl Borg is drawn out into the open field."

…..................................................................................................................................................................  


Ragnar, Björn and several other trusted men snuck alone into Kattegatt to burn the winter supplies. The plan worked, and Jarl Borg and his men were drawn into open land that they could not defend. With Lagertha's reinforcements, they were just about evenly matched with Jarl Borg's men. Moira did indeed fight with them, eager to repay them after her defeat months before.

It was hardly a battle by Fili's standards. More of a skirmish. But he admitted to himself that when your first true battle was the massive Battle of Five Armies, perhaps that would skew one's perspective of what a 'real' battle looked like. There were only a few hundred men on either side. Ragnar was victorious, but Jarl Borg managed to escape. When the conquering heroes streamed into Kattegatt, the mood was one of rejoicing. The civilians who had stayed in Kattegatt under Jarl Borg's rule ran to embrace their friends and family. When Moira crested the hill overlooking the small town of thatch-roofed huts, she paused, observing the sight before her as her eager fellows streamed around her like a river around a rock. After a moment she wondered out loud, in Westron (or English, as Fili had learned that the language was called here), “When did this strange place become my home?”

…..................................................................................................................................................................  


They were in the longhouse, and it was late that night. Ragnar had reclaimed his place as Earl. Björn rough-housed with his young half-brothers as Aslaug, Ragnar, and Moira talked quietly. Finally, Ragnar left the longhouse, saying that he had business to attend to before the night became too late. Aslaug moved from the table to the long, raised stone pit which filled the center of the room. She called, “Come, Brenna, sit with me by the fire.”

When Moira did as she asked, both of them perched on the stone rim of the fire pit, Aslaug asked her, “What do you see?”

Moira seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

“Look into the flames. Some of the sages say you can see the future in them.”

Trying to please her, Moira looked intently into the fire. Finally, she broke off, looking back to Aslaug. “I'm sorry, Aslaug, I only see fire.”

“I have something to tell you, dear Brenna. I am a völva.”

“You're a witch?”

“A seeress,” she corrected. Aslaug seemed a little put out by the word 'witch'. “I see what others cannot.” Aslaug smiled and brushed a thick lock of hair behind Moira's ear. “And there is something that I must tell you. I had a vision of you, the night before you came to us. You had a river of blood flowing at your feet, stars fell from the sky all around you, and you were carrying a flaming sword.”

Moira's eyes had gone wide, and she gulped. Fili had to admit his own breath caught at the surprising revelation as well. “What – what does that mean?” she asked.

“I do not know. But you looked at me with such coldness in your eyes, and I was terrified. But then they brought you into the village square, and you were such a little thing, so frail. Half-dead from the cold, and wearing such strange clothing! I knew then that you had been touched by the Gods, and brought to us for a reason.”

“What reason is that?”

“I do not know.”

“Have you had – other visions about me?”

“Yes. Although I did not understand them all. I still do not.”

“Huh.” Moira just looked into the fire, clearly contemplating Aslaug's strange revelation.

“There is another matter I wish to discuss with you, although perhaps now is not the time. Perhaps, you are overwhelmed?”

Moira lifted her eyes to look from the fire. “No, Aslaug, tell me.”

“Very well. You know I care for you greatly … I know that I will never bear a daughter. I see only sons in my future. Yet my heart aches for a girl to call my own, and I have come to love you almost as if you were my flesh and blood …”

Fili could see Moira's breath hitch. “Aslaug, what are you saying?”

“I did not grow you in my womb, Brenna, but I did teach you our way of life. I did teach you our language, along with Athelstan, and I taught you how to be Viking. I named you, when you asked for a Viking name. And I believe that the Gods sent you to me, even grown as you are. I would like to adopt you. Officially. If you'll have me.”

Moira's eyes filled with tears. “Oh Aslaug, yes!”

She threw herself at the taller woman, hugging her tightly, before pulling back suddenly and chewing her lip worriedly.

“Wait. What about Ragnar? His first daughter died from the plague. What if he doesn't want a new one? Will he agree?"

“I will speak with him. I am quite sure he will agree if I make it clear that it is the will of the Gods. Do not worry.”

................................................................................................................................................................  


The longhouse was crowded as Ragnar received petitioners and saw to the business of the town. In the Great Hall of the longhouse was a raised wooden platform, which held two thrones, on which sat Ragnar and Aslaug. Ubbe and Hvitserk stood beside their father, watching and learning as he passed his judgments. Moira had what Fili assumed was a carefully calculated in-between position. She sat on the steps leading up to the platform, near to Aslaug's feet. In this way she was not claiming to be a part of the Earl's family, not yet, but she was plainly a part of his household and was to be treated with respect.

“In this case, I am minded to declare in favor of the plaintiff, Jorn Aronson. I know that this man has a reputation as a bad man. And this is not the first time that we have had to pass judgment on him. Yet, I believe he is a victim of his reputation. I think his accusers just _assume_ that we shall find him guilty and confiscate his land. But, on this occasion, I believe he should keep his land. And the accusers should give him –” he looked to his oldest son, Ubbe, who was standing beside him. The child held up three fingers. “Three sheep? All in favor, say baaaaah.”

Fili smiled as the longhouse echoed with the sound of all the fearsome Viking warriors saying “Baaaaaah.” Just then, someone entered the hall, covered in the dust of hard travel. Ragnar called for quiet and strode to greet him, calling him Thorvard. Ragnar pulled him close, their foreheads nearly touching, so that they could talk without the rest of the people attending hearing them. Moira was close enough that she and Aslaug could both hear the quiet conversation between Ragnar and the messenger. “I hope you bring better news than the last.”

Thorvard seemed nervous to report his tidings. “My lord, after you left, the Saxons treacherously attacked King Horik's camp at Wessex. There was a terrible slaughter. A great many warriors perished. The king and his son only just escaped with their lives.”

Moira and Aslaug shared a worried glance about the implications. So much for an alliance. But Ragnar had only one thought. “What about Athelstan? What happened to Athelstan?”

The other man's brow furrowed. “My lord, I don't know of whom you speak.”

Ragnar let out a long breath in frustration. “Why has it taken so long for me to hear this news?”

“My lord, bad news travels a great deal slower than good news."

After Ragnar had dismissed him, he had just returned to his chair when the next petitioner was ushered in. It was his ex-wife. It was obvious she was well-respected in Kattegatt. The crowd parted for her instantly, and awed whispers of “It's Lagertha” filled the room.

Ragnar seemed concerned. “What is wrong?”

“I have something important to say.”

Ragnar leaned forward. “Should it be said in private?”

Lagertha's voice was clear and strong. “No. I want to say it before everyone.”

Ragnar leaned back into his chair. “Then say what you have to say.”

“I have come to a decision.” She turned and addressed the assembled crowd as she spoke. “I'm aware that my son, Björn, wants more than anything in the world, to stay here with his father. And who can blame him? If you had a father like Ragnar Lothbrok, would you not want to stay? I happily give my permission to my beloved and only son to remain here with his father and his half-brothers. As for me, I must go back to my husband. I have a duty; I am a responsible person. But I leave my son in your good hands.” Her blue eyes became misty and her voice softened then. “Look after him, Ragnar. He's all I have left.”

Later, as Björn helped his mother to saddle her horse outside the longhouse, Aslaug and Moira strode out to bid the shieldmaiden farewell. Ragnar's current wife addressed his ex-wife earnestly, with a waver in her voice. “Lagertha. Thank you. There are no possible words to describe what you have done for us. I will always be in your debt.”

Lagertha grasped that taller woman's forearm as she spoke. “The debt is already paid. The future is open. Trust in the Gods.” Then her eyes slid to her son, addressing him as well as Aslaug. “Live for each moment.”

“It was an honor to fight beside you, Lagertha,” Moira addressed the blonde shieldmaiden.

“And you, Brenna. I'm sure you will make Aslaug very proud and prove yourself worthy to be called a daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“You told her?” Moira looked surprised.

Aslaug smiled. “Now that you are the daughter of a Princess, we'll have to talk about politics and not giving things away. Even when someone guesses correctly.”

“Oh.” Moira looked suitably embarrassed. Fili thought she should have remembered that lesson from Westeros, but perhaps she had already spent too much time with the usually plain-spoken Vikings. Fili could see where she got her bluntness from. In general, these people did not mince words.

Lagertha laughed softly. “Do not be too embarrassed. I would have known, whatever you had said. The love between you and Aslaug is plain. Farewell.”

With that, Lagertha swung onto the stallion.

Björn called out, “Don't take any more shit!”

“Who do you think I am?!” Lagertha confidently responded as she rode away.

Fili couldn't help but wonder what that exchange between mother and son was about.

After she had left and Aslaug returned inside, Moira addressed Björn. Despite him being a few years younger than her, Björn towered over her. These Vikings were practically a race of giants. “I guess we're going to get to know each other better, Björn. I love Ragnar's other sons like they are my brothers. I hope we can have the same relationship.”

Björn inclined his head towards her. “If my father has taken you into his household, I am sure you are a worthy person.” He smiled then. “You certainly fight like a Valkyrie.”

................................................................................................................................................................  


A few months later, King Horik arrived in Kattegatt with his son and warriors. Of course, the feasts were more subdued than normal, and Ragnar had to beg forgiveness for the poverty of the meals. The winter after burning their own stores had been a difficult one. It wasn't long before the conversation turned to the disaster in Wessex. Ragnar cleared his throat before speaking. “Tell us, Erlendur, what happened in England, after we left?”

Horik's young son looked like he was about to respond, but Horik cut him off and took over the conversation. “We were betrayed by King Ecbert. We made contact and your Christian friend Athelstan arranged for further talks, or so he said. In retrospect I wonder whose side he was truly on. In any case the Trickster was at work. Ecbert never meant to honor his promises to you. We were betrayed, taken by surprise; it was a great slaughter. Erlendur and I barely escaped with our lives.”

Ragnar's first question was about his English friend. “What about Athelstan? Where is he now?”

Horik frowned at Ragnar's concern. “If he is fortunate, he died in battle. In any case, let's not speak of him. He was a worthless individual.”

“Poor Athelstan,” Björn lamented. “My sister and I grew to love him when we were children.”

“He fooled you, young Björn,” Floki cut in, looking fierce with the kohl around his eyes streaked down his cheeks in two straight lines. Fili didn't know if the affectation was unique to Floki or if it signified he was a mystic, but he saw no other Viking males wearing the make-up which was usually the providence of women. “He never denounced his Christian God! He was our enemy. We should rejoice at his death.”

Floki eyed Moira distrustfully as he said that. Fili knew that many of the Vikings believed she had originally been a Saxon. She had spoken their tongue, after all, and it wasn't like she could tell them the truth about her strange curse. Some of them thought she had been an escaped slave when she stumbled into Kattegatt without knowing a word of Norse. But with Aslaug's protection, none of them could touch her. Many had accepted her by now, but Floki remained intransigent. She met his gaze head-on, not blushing and shying away anymore. Only a few months of sitting at the high table with Ragnar's family had changed her. “If you have something to say to me, Floki, just say it. Don't cloak it in judgments of others.”

“All right, I will. I don't think you're truly one of us, _Morgana_.” He spat the English name as if it was a curse. He was the only one in Kattegatt who still called her that.

“Floki!” Helga admonished him almost instantly.

“If a freed slave's position can be raised, can be given an arm ring and considered Viking, then why not me, a stranger who was just a wanderer?” she asked him calmly.

“Why is a slave the first thing you think of, hmmm?” He giggled semi-manically. “Something you want to tell us, hmmm?”

Horik watched the exchange with sharp eyes, before Ragnar cut the argument off before it could get out of hand. “So, what do you intend on doing now?” he addressed the king, who snorted. “What do you think, Ragnar? I intend on gaining revenge on King Ecbert. We should plan a raid as soon as possible.”

Rollo chimed in for the first time. It appeared after saving Ragnar's family he wasn't considered disgraced anymore. “I would be very happy to take part in it. King Ecbert should certainly be punished.”

Ragnar agreed with a nod. “We should return to Wessex. But first, Jarl Borg must pay the price for what he did to my family and to our people.”

Horik nodded. “I understand, completely, and if I were you, I would feel the same way. But we must remember our agreement and what it was for. We would sail west to raid and to colonize. That was your dream, Ragnar, and I have come to share it. But now we have neither the men nor the ships to realize our dreams.”

“What are you saying?” Ragnar knew very well what Horik was saying, but he insisted he spell it out.

“I think we should go back to Jarl Borg. He is licking his wounds. He is no longer as strong as he was. And, yet, we need him. We cannot go west without his ships. And so, once again, we should ask him to join our alliance.”

“Don't listen to him,” Aslaug whispered to her husband.

Moira was more direct. “Forgive me, King Horik. Aren't you the one who ordered Ragnar to break off the agreement to raid with him?”

“Yes.” Horik ground his teeth. “And?”

“And now you've turned around. Again. Why should Jarl Borg believe a thing you say?” Moira leaned forward. “Also, doesn't that kind of make it _your fault_ he attacked us?”

“Who should go to Jarl Borg?” Rollo asked, sensing this could go very badly.

Horik spared Moira another glare before he answered Rollo's questions, ignoring her concerns completely. She continued to stare back steadily, as Aslaug and Ragnar watched. Ragnar looked contemplative, and Aslaug proud. Fili felt himself swelling with pride as well. _She will make a good Queen one day, if she ever gets over her insecurity_ , he found himself thinking.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Siggy, Aslaug and Moira were weaving. Well, Siggy and Aslaug were weaving, and Moira was learning the female art. Nearly all women in Viking culture knew how to weave cloth, certainly all the upper-class ones. It was something that Moira would need to learn if she was to be the adopted daughter of a Princess and an Earl. The skills of a warrior were prized, but a society could not be run by warriors alone. She was carefully watching Aslaug's skilled fingers move across the strings, before trying to replicate her actions. It was slow going, and the rows that Moira wove were more snarled than the smooth bands that Aslaug created. But she was progressing. She was wearing a wine-colored dress now, her long, dark hair brushed behind her ears and braided into a something Aslaug had called a 'fishtail' braid. She was a breathtaking sight. Moira had worn dresses in Westeros, of course, and in Camelot, but in both places she had been a servant of some kind. And in the Marvelverse she preferred to dress in those strange trouser-like garments she called 'jeans' and 'cargo pants'. But this entire scene was different. Fili had never seen her perform such …. _feminine_ actions. Despite that she wasn't very good at it – yet – it caused a strange warmth to grow in his chest. She had never looked so beautiful to him. Perhaps it was because she seemed so happy here, among these people, that truly made the difference. She wasn't hiding here, afraid of being found out. She had a place, a family. She _belonged_.

Suddenly Aslaug grimaced, clutching her belly. Moira placed her hand on Aslaug's shoulder. “What's wrong?”

The sound of alarm in her voice caused Siggy to turn from her own loom, which had been set up in front of the one that Aslaug was teaching Moira on.

Aslaug panted a little. “I have never had such a pregnancy. So much pain. I am afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Siggy asked.

“When Ragnar came to the farmhouse, he wanted to have sex. I told him if he forced himself on me in the first three days of his return, I would bear him a monster. I do not know what made me say the things I said to Ragnar. I spoke them, but the Gods chose them.”

Moira looked horrified. “Aslaug, did Ragnar … did he … _force_ you?”

Aslaug looked puzzled. “He wasn't violent. He did not cause me pain.”

“But, you didn't _want_ to?”

“He is my husband.”

“That's not what I asked.”

And there it was, Fili thought. The clash of values. The reminder that no matter how fully she assimilated, she was not truly one of them. She wasn't truly one of anything, was she? She could never go home now, even if there was a way. But who was she? She wasn't American anymore, not really, nor Westerosi, nor Viking. Who was she?

...................................................................................................................................................................

Despite King Horik's urging, Ragnar did _not_ forgive Jarl Borg. Through patience and deception Ragnar managed to capture him, but Horik convinced him to stay his execution until a new ally could be found to replace him. Eventually, a messenger arrived in Kattegatt saying that the little-known Earl Ingstad had heard of his need and came bringing men and ships to Ragnar's aid. “Earl Ingstad” turned out to be none other than Lagertha, who had risen to power after killing her abusive husband Sigvard when she returned to Hedeby without Björn. She now ruled Hedeby on her own. With the soldiers and ships that Lagertha brought to the cause, Ragnar was free to extract his revenge on the man who had captured his home and hunted his wife and children like animals.

Ragnar did not merely execute Jarl Borg, but personally blood-eagled him. This form of execution was especially rare, reserved for the worst of the worst. Fili suspected that if this had been the first place that innocent Amber had appeared, she would not have been able to stomach being present for Jarl Borg's blood-eagling. But her experiences in first Westeros and then Camelot had hardened her. And this man had hunted her and her family, intent on slaughtering Aslaug and her young sons. There was no doubt that Moira would _not_ have been spared if he had succeeded. She never looked away from the grisly ritual. Not until Jarl Borg's pregnant wife fainted. Even then she only spared Torvi a quick sideways glance before turning back to watch what was occurring on the wooden platform in the center of the square. Ragnar's once-white robe was stained red as he worked.

Jarl Borg never screamed. Somehow. Several times it seemed that he would, his mouth opening and closing, gasping as Ragnar opened his back with an ax, careful enough that he did not die quickly. In the end, his ribs were bent back. His lungs were carefully lifted over his shoulders, glistening, like the wings of a great bird. And shuddering, he took his last breath. Jarl Borg never screamed, and so he earned his way into Valhalla, and was redeemed of his sins against Ragnar's family and the Gods.

.........................................................................................................................................................................  


Moira was present when Aslaug gave birth to her last son. It was a difficult one, and nearly killed her. If it hadn't been for Moira clutching her hand, begging her to hold on, to persevere, to choose life, as well as Siggy, who was with her every step of the way, encouraging her and praying to Freyja, perhaps she _would_ have chosen Valhalla. But eventually the child did come forth, and Aslaug survived. Fili knew something was wrong when a hush settled over the midwife, although he couldn't see what it was. It had felt strange and inappropriate to watch a woman he didn't know give birth, and he had purposefully taken a spot in the birthing hut that would protect Aslaug's modesty. He knew that it had to have been near a hundred years since this occurred, and Aslaug must be long dead. But as she was here in front of him in Moira's memory, it _**felt**_ real, and it seemed wrong to spy on this most intimate of moments in such a way.

When the child was washed and bundled in a blanket and given to Aslaug, who was leaning against Moira for support, he still couldn't see a problem. It was true that Fili had not seen many babes, but it looked healthy enough to him. The boy squalled and cried like any infant, and quieted when given a breast. When Ragnar met his new son, an argument ensued, and that was when Fili discovered that the baby was crippled. The boy was born with twisted legs and would never walk.

He also quickly learned, to his horror, that the Viking way to deal with such things was to expose the infant, leaving it to die. There was a certain kind of horrible logic to it. Menfolk had never had the same difficulty with conception as Dwarves sometimes did, and Norway was a harsh land, difficult to survive in. Every morsel of food in winter was rationed, with the lady of the house having the only key to the larder hanging from her belt, as a sign of her power as much as to guard it. Still. Fili had been raised to see every child as a precious gift, more valuable than gold or mithril. The idea of leaving a baby to die disgusted him on a visceral level. Such a thing was unheard of among Dwarves, a great crime. Every birth was celebrated, no matter the circumstances. Mahal had made them sturdy, strong of both mind and body, and such … disadvantages were rare. Yet, they existed, and especially after the Dragon had driven his people from Erebor, there were more such births than ever before. Fili had not been born yet when that happened. But he knew that in the intervening years, as Durin's Folk wandered, many dwarflings had been born early, or were small and weak as their mothers were malnourished. But no Dwarf would simply discard their child like refuse. Accommodations would be made, whatever adaptions were needed to adapt them to their society, or their society to them. A place would always be found for such Dwarven children, however rare they were. After all, legs were not required to work in a forge, merely strong arms and nimble fingers. Some of the greatest Dwarven blacksmiths had been what Menfolk would call cripples.

When the midwife and servants had left, it was just the three of them. Aslaug and Ragnar argued. Moira said nothing, but paced near the door while Ragnar and Aslaug debated. Tension radiated from her, as sadness did from Ragnar. He was regretful, tearful, but advocated for leaving the babe out. Aslaug, poor, exhausted, weakened Aslaug, knew this was the way of her people, but loved her son anyway.

“He will die anyway. What is the point of pretending? If we were wolves, or even pigs, this poor, weak runt would be discarded.”

“We are not wolves or pigs.”

“It is natural. We let such babies die for their own good. For what kind of a life could he live?”

“I know, but I don't care.”

When Ragnar took the crippled child to leave it out to die, it was Moira who followed him. Aslaug would have gone herself to retrieve her son, but she was still weak and Moira begged her to rest, to heal and take care of herself. She followed him silently, until he came to a crossroads with a lake on one side and woods on the other. Moira crouched in the underbrush and waited for him to abandon the infant.

Ragnar sat by the deserted dirt path, rocking his child tearfully. He wasn't a callus man. It was clear he didn't _want_ to do this frightful thing. He simply believed it would be best. His voice was choked when he spoke. “There is no other way. No other way, my son.” Sadly, Ragnar laid the bundle in the road. Moira's hand flew to her mouth and Fili let out a horrified gasp when Ragnar reached for his ax. For a few moments, it seemed he was going to give the babe a quicker death than one by exposure. He held the ax to his infant son's neck. But he couldn't do it. After a moment, he laid the ax down beside the bundle.

“You'll have to provide for yourself,” Ragnar whispered. Moira let out the breath she had been holding when he straightened up and strode away on his long legs, tears streaming down his face.

After she was certain Ragnar had gone far enough down the road, she crept through the brush. The baby had begun to cry, and she gathered him in her arms, cooing to him as she wrapped him in her cloak, placing him against her skin to warm him. Fili sat beside her as she rocked her tiny brother, wishing he could wrap his arms around them. Fili had known Moira had borne children, but seeing her holding the baby and cooing sweetly to him made a warm ache settle in his chest as he wished for something with her that he was not sure he'd ever have. For a moment, just a moment, Fili allowed himself to imagine that the babe she was cradling tenderly was not a human, but a dwarfling. As she rocked him, she began to talk. Eventually he stopped crying and looked up at her with bright eyes as she bared her soul to the child.

“Shush, baby brother. I know who you are. Don't know who anyone else here is, besides Ragnar. I was never good at history. Could barely get a few pages through the sagas. Got a D in European Studies. I was working too hard to support my own little brother to focus on my classes. Our parents sucked. I practically raised him myself. When I grew up and I was supposed to be in college, I kept dropping out of classes so I could work to support him. My personal life was in shambles, but it's okay. It was all worth it, because David is a stable grown-up. Good job, educated, engaged to a nice girl. I did my job.” Fili smiled sadly as a few sparse details about her first lifetime came into focus. She had cared for and raised her brother just as he had Kili. They were so alike in many ways.

When Moira smiled down at the baby in her arms, her whole face brightened. “But YOU, little one, I remember you.” She reached out, and the infant gripped her finger tightly. “You might be the only thing from that class I _do_ remember. You have a hard path ahead of you, a Viking cripple. But they have no idea. _None_ ,” she whispered fiercely. “You're going to be _great_. A great warrior, a great leader. You'll be more Viking than _**any**_ of them. And I'm going to help you, Ivar.”

........................................................................................................................................................................  


Moira was torn about whether to stay with Aslaug or go with Ragnar to England. It was so soon after Ivar's birth, and she almost backed out, even though she had been eagerly looking forward to her first raid into England for some time. It was Aslaug who had insisted that she go, saying it was her destiny to be part of this raid. In retrospect, perhaps Aslaug knew that Moira would meet her future husband in England.

......................................................................................................................................................................  


When Moira left the fire behind, stalking angrily into the darkness, most of the Vikings left her alone or leapt out of her way when she glared at them. Except for one. A tall Viking with dirty-blonde hair swept into a thick plait down his back and tattoos on the sides of his shaved head followed her. Fili assumed that he was not from Kattegatt, because he didn't recognize him. When Moira got so far from the fires that they seemed small in the distance, she growled out, “I know you're following me,” without turning around.

He stepped out of the shadows then, his hands clasped in front of his body as he regarded her with bright, interested eyes. When she turned, arms crossed over her chest, neither of them said a thing, but merely studied the other for a few moments. It was Moira who got annoyed first. “Well?”

He smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling. “You killed that priest.”

Moira gave him an incredulous look. “I killed a _lot_ of people today.”

He was watching her with curious, intelligent eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that reminded Fili of 

Ragnar. “Yes, but this one was different. You killed that one out of mercy.”

“And?” Moira ground out.

“And I want to know why.” He moved closer to her now, but carefully kept his hands clasped in front of him, away from his weapons. As if to say, _I'm not a threat_. His blue eyes seemed to be trying to bore into her skull and shift through what was inside. “Why do you show mercy to these Saxons? It's said you first spoke their language, before you learned ours. Do you feel kinship with them?”

“Why do you care?” Moira snapped.

He rolled his shoulders in what may have been meant as a shrug. “I am curious. You are an interesting contradiction.”

Moira stopped her pacing and studied the much taller man then, clearly trying to evaluate his intentions. His face was open and he seemed genuinely curious, not mocking or sneering as some might have been in his place. Finally, she sighed, deciding to answer his question.“Severity is sometimes required in the service of a goal. But cruelty for the sake of cruelty? That serves neither the Gods, nor human endeavor. Do you have a problem with that?”  


“I did not say I did. I was merely asking why _you_ killed him.”

“What about you?” Moira turned his questioning back on him. “You're one of Horik's men. I can't control you. Why aren't you out raping the Saxon women?”

He chuckled. “That was never my vice. The Gods gave us two great joys in this sad world: killing a man who wants to kill you, and fucking a woman who wants to be fucked.” His eyes darkened and he leaned closer to Moira then, his voice dropping low. “If you find you need … relief, after one of the coming battles, come and find me. My name is Sven.”

 _Sven_. So this was the man she would eventually marry. Moira raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down or back up. “I warn you. I'm not a woman to take disappointment laying down.”

Sven's thin lips twisted into a confident smirk. “I enjoy a challenge.” And with that, the Viking warrior backed up, being the one to give ground to _her_. He inclined his head towards her in respect, after which he sauntered slowly back towards the bonfires. Moira's eyes followed him.

..............................................................................................................................................................

“Where is Torstein going?” Moira asked her adopted father as she flopped beside him under a canvas roof that had been erected. He smiled at her and handed her a roasted pigeon like the one he was eating before answering, “I sent him to inform the king of our return.”

King Horik, who was standing just far enough under the tent to get out of the rain, looked incensed at that response. He immediately demanded to know why.

“So he knows that we are here to talk,” Ragnar said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And not to fight.”

Horik, perhaps predictably, was not pleased.“And you did that without consulting with me.”

Ragnar's voice was calm and his eyes calculating. “I thought you would both agree.”

 _No, you didn't_ , Fili thought. _You thought it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission_.

“Why should you think that?” Horik demanded angrily.

“Because it is a sensible policy.” Ragnar shrugged. “Fine, I will – ” he sat up straighter, looked around. “Unfortunately, it is too late to recall Torstein.”

 _Oh, this is a dangerous game he is playing_. But it must have worked out; Moira had called Ragnar her King when she spoke of him, but clearly he didn't yet hold that rank. Moira was carefully watching the argument from beside her father.

Lagertha was also under the tent, and her blue eyes were as hard as chips of cold sapphire. “You should have discussed it with us; King Horik is right.” Fili wondered if Lagertha was more upset about what Ragnar had done, or the fact that she had been left out of his plan.

Ragnar smirked a little at his ex-wife. “I will try to remember that the next time, _Earl Ingstad_.”

“There is not going to be a next time, Ragnar,” Horik said as he came and sat down directly in front of Ragnar, leaning threateningly close. Ragnar did not look impressed. “Unless you agree you will never, ever do anything again without consulting with me first. For you and I are not equals. So, what do you propose now?"

“Wait.”

“For what?” Moira had watched the entire exchange with sharp eyes, but this was the first she had spoken. Horik looked at her as if being reminded that she was there.

“The unexpected,” Ragnar said simply.

“Let me tell you what to expect. King Ecbert will send some envoy to trick us, or he will send some army to annihilate us.” With that, Horik drove his ax into a nearby log and strode off, fuming. Lagertha shot Ragnar an angry look as well, and left to look after her own men. Only Ragnar's brother stayed.

“That wasn't smart, Ragnar.” Moira leaned close to her adoptive father. It was obvious to Fili that she hadn't wanted to contradict him in front of the others, not after he had supported her when she killed two of her own men she caught raping a Saxon woman. “He'll remember that.”

“I hope he does.” Ragnar's lips twisted into the enigmatic smile he wore when he knew more than everyone around him, but wasn't going to share that knowledge. His eyes were always busy, and you could see the constant appraisal of everything – and everyone – in them, the calculation, planning, and re-evaluation.

A few hours later, a cry went up that the Saxons were approaching. The assembled warriors quickly fell into defensive positions, but the party that approached the camp was comprised of only two dozen horsemen. Ragnar passed the barricades to meet the approaching horsemen. Behind him, Horik, Lagertha, and Moira followed as well, fanning out in a V- shape and carefully watching the interaction. Fili followed silently, as always. A richly dressed Saxon dismounted and approached slowly. He held his sword out flat on his hands, laying it on the ground as he took a knee, to show he came in peace. His sword discarded, the noble Saxon had to pass rows of Vikings holding shields.

"Ragnar Lothbrok, my father, King Ecbert, sends his greetings,” the Saxon called as he and Ragnar approached each other between the rows of Viking shields. So this was Aethelwulf, then. “He hopes that you will be prepared to talk to him.”  


Ragnar spared a glance back at Horik and Lagertha. “I am prepared.” The emphasis on the _**I**_ implied that he knew, or feared, that Horik would not agree. “But we would have to exchange hostages.”

“Of course. And my father also sends you this,” Aethelwulf produced a Viking arm ring. “as a token of his good will.”

Ragnar grasped it eagerly, and spun on his heel to display it to the assembled warriors. “This is Athelstan's. I gave it to him.” He placed Athelstan's arm ring on the wrist opposite of the one that his own was on as he spoke.

Moira broke into a grin. Lagertha smiled as well.“Then he is alive.”

“Athelstan is waiting to see you at my father's villa. You have his guarantee of safe passage, as well as my father's.”

Ragnar smiled. “Then we will all come to your father's villa.”

Aethelwulf placed his hand on Ragnar's shoulder briefly, a sign of respect. Based on this meeting alone, peace seemed a possibility. But sadly, King Horik proved shortsighted. Where Ecbert had appeared willing to talk peace, and Ragnar certainly was, Horik wanted nothing of the sort. He sent his son and a number of men to slaughter the party of Saxons, leaving only Ecbert's son Aethelwulf alive to spread fear of the Northmen in Wessex. Which, of course, would make reconciliation between the two parties nearly impossible.

...................................................................................................................................................................

It was nighttime now, and the Viking leaders were again gathered around a fire, discussing the campaign. Ragnar was more than displeased with what had happened. “King Horik, your behavior has made it very difficult to talk peace or to negotiate with King Ecbert.”

“I never had any intention of negotiating with King Ecbert,” Horik declared. “I thought you were aware of that. I only want revenge. I want to kill King Ecbert. And then, perhaps, I shall talk to him.”

“If we defeat Ecbert in battle, he may be prepared to offer us more, in terms not only of gold, but of land,” Lagertha offered.

“I don't think so,” Moira countered. “Would you?”

“He is not like us.” Lagertha shrugged.

“Athelstan said he was,” Moira shot back.

At mention of the former monk, Ragnar held up his arm ring, which had been given to him by Aethelwulf. “This was a gift in good faith.”

“What is good faith?” Horik demanded. “Why should there be good faith between us and Christians? What do you say, Floki?” He turned to the boat-builder, knowing already that he would agree with him.

Floki's voice had a vicious crow to it. “They worship a false God. They're fleas and vermin.”

Ragnar sighed in obvious frustration, visibly making an effort not to roll his eyes. “I will go myself and talk to him.”

“You will not divide our forces, Earl Ragnar! You seem to forget I am King.” Horik stood then, his eyes slightly crazed as he asserted his power. “We will strike camp tomorrow, and, armed and ready, we will go to seek battle, as our father Odin has taught us."

........................................................................................................................................................

The battle was a disaster for the Vikings, thanks to Horik's terrible leadership. Instead of fighting in the shield-wall as was customary, he pressed forward, against Ragnar's advice. The Vikings fought bravely, but they were completely disorganized. The Saxons routed them, not easily, but they were defeated. As they dragged their wounded away from the bloody battlefield, Ragnar couldn't resist needling Horik about his failure.

“Do you still think that we should not have talked to them first?” His voice had a sarcastic edge to it.

“You always think you can second guess the Gods, Ragnar!” Horik declared defensively. “What has happened today was fated. It had nothing to do with you or I.”

“Yeah, right,” Fili muttered.

Moira was holding her side and limping when she dragged herself under the commander's tent. Björn stalked past, throwing his splintered shield with all the force he could muster and kicking over a water bucket in his rage.

Ragnar approached his furious son. “You fought well today."

“I was fortunate, that is all.”

“You were favored by the Gods.”

“Favored?!” Björn sounded incredulous. “We were defeated.”

“But we live to fight another day.”

Björn's head dropped. “We lived, but my Uncle died.”

Ragnar shook his head. “We do not know if he is dead. It would take a lot to kill him.” Ragnar then turned towards the camp, his hand on his son's shoulder, and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Since no ax, spear, or blade could touch my son today, he will be known as Björn Ironside.”

When he came to stand beside the seated Moira, she smiled up at him, but it came out in more of a wince. “Björn Ironside. It's a good name.” He smiled back, but he looked fierce with his face covered in spattered blood.

“We must make some decisions, and we must make them quickly.” Lagertha entered the tent next. “Do we leave tomorrow and abandon this raid? Do we go home or do we sail up the coast and find some richer, easier pickings?”

Björn approached the King, feet set apart and met his gaze head-on. “If my Uncle is captured and wounded, I want to stay in this place. As long as it takes until he is free.”

“I agree with Björn.” Moira grunted in pain as she shifted in her seat, but continued, “Family is important. Rollo and I fought together against Jarl Borg when you were gone, Ragnar, and I believe he would do the same for me.”

Ragnar stood and spread his arms wide, looking to Horik with mock reverence. “Well, King, what are we fated to do?”

Unsurprisingly to Fili, Horik had no idea what the next step was. He was beginning to see why Ragnar took control. Also unsurprisingly, Moira soon left the meeting to find Sven.

.......................................................................................................................................................

A few days later, a single figure rode to their camp. When it came closer, it became clear that it was Athelstan. He was no longer dressed as a Viking, but wore the robe and cross of a Christian monk, riding a donkey instead of a horse. He did not wear his hair with that odd shaved bald spot he had called a tonsure, but it was pulled back and away from his face in a tight ponytail that displayed the serenity on his features. He rode past the guards with no fear and dismounted. Björn was the first to meet him, Moira standing behind the tall blond.

“Hello, Björn,” Athelstan greeted the much taller man gently. “Do you remember me?”

“Of course I remember you.” Björn smiled fondly. “I wanted to kill you when I was a child. And then I loved you.”

Athelstan's eyes moved to Moira next. “Hello, Brenna. It is good to see you as well.”

“And you, Athelstan.” Moira was smiling as she spoke.

“I know you were close to your Uncle.” Athelstan addressed Björn again, raising his voice slightly so that all could hear him. “I want you all to know that Rollo is alive, wounded, but alive, and being taken care of.”  


“Why have you come, Athelstan?” Lagertha asked. “Did you escape?”

“King Ecbert sends you!” Horik took a commanding stance. “You do his bidding. You are one of them.”

“He offers you a chance for peace,” Athelstan explained. “He wants to talk of many things with you. Good things."

“Yes, and then kill us.”

“No,” Athelstan protested. “He will not, I swear. I know him.”

“You are his dog,” Horik responded in a taunting tone. “You lick his fingers. You lick his asshole.”

Moria rolled her eyes at the immaturity of the king. Luckily from where she stood only Björn and Athelstan could see her response. The monk smiled peacefully.

Floki swaggered up next to join the taunting. “I really like your new clothes, Athelstan, and your hair. Very nice.”

“Is he prepared to offer us a hostage?” Fili frowned as Lagertha seemed to be speaking as if Horik wasn't even there.

“Yes,” Athelstan responded. “He wants to reassure you, in any way he can, of his honest intentions.”

“Then we will meet him,” Lagertha declared calmly.

“Who are you to say?” Horik demanded, his voice twisted in anger.

“You do not need to come.” Fili shook his head at the way that she simply dismissed the King's wishes. Horik was in the wrong, of course, and Fili thought that Ragnar was by far the more sensible ruler, but it still wasn't wise. “Ragnar and I will go.” Lagertha was smart enough to phrase it in a way that was less likely to upset the King, at least. “And if Ecbert means to kill us, so be it.”

“I will go as well,” Moira declared.

Athelstan inclined in head in respect. “I will give him your answer.”

Ragnar came forward from the crowd then. “I will accompany you, part of the way.” He wrapped his arm around the monk and began to walk with him back to the forest road. Fili followed Ragnar's eyes to the bushes at the ridges above the camp, and saw the point of an arrow. Horik's men. Fili sighed. It was obvious to him how Ragnar was going to become King.

...........................................................................................................................................................

Floki was not happy at going to Ecbert's castle. He made no secret of it on the ride there. “This is a mistake. I say this will end very badly.”

Ragnar, who was riding ahead of him, tried to shut him down. “Now you've had your say.”

But Floki wasn't done. “All this for your brother. We're all put in danger for your brother. Why must we save your brother? He killed Arne, he nearly killed me. He betrayed all of us.”

Lagertha chimed in. “This is not just about Rollo.”

“No, it's also about the priest who lured us here. How can you trust him?"

Moira pulled her horse up next to the misanthropic boat-builder. “Athelstan is a good person. I still believe he is one of us.”

“Says the other Saxon in our midst!” Floki snapped.

“I'm not a Saxon!” Moira protested.

Ragnar's voice was hard and authoritative. “Brenna is my daughter by law now. You will treat her with the respect she is due.”

“They are poisoning your mind, Ragnar,” Floki continued. “How can you ever trust a Saxon dog?”

“I am just as Viking as you!” Moira snapped. “Do I need to take up my ax and prove it to you?”

Ragnar rounded on Floki angrily. “You talk about trust, you!”

“What are you saying? I am a trustworthy person.”

Ragnar hhhmmmppphhhed and just turned his horse around and spurred it onwards, ending the argument. Horik hung back and watched the argument with conniving interest. Fili could see that Horik meant to take advantage of the growing rift between Ragnar and Floki, who had once been his closest friend. This could go nowhere good.

.................................................................................................................................................................

A large table had been placed in the throne-room for the negotiations. When Ecbert entered, he addressed the Vikings in their own tongue. “Welcome. You are all welcome. Please sit down.”

They exchanged cautious glances, but moved forward to do so. King Ecbert moved to the head of the table, where a dark-haired Saxon woman had been standing as the Vikings assembled. Now she settled into her chair and watched, licking her lips in anticipation. It seemed to Fili there was something almost dangerous and crazed in her eyes as she observed the Vikings, although she did not speak.

Ecbert patted the monk's hand fondly as he continued to speak. “Athelstan has taught me some words of your language. Forgive me for not speaking properly. But we are here to make peace.”

With that Ecbert sat down, and Athelstan stood, placing his fingers on the table. Being the more fluent in Norse, the monk took over. “King Ecbert desires me to set before you possible terms of a treaty. He is completely sincere in his wish for peace and cooperation, and believes that Ragnar Lothbrok shares his wish. The King will agree to pay you monies and/or treasures to prevent any further depredations of his territories. More importantly, he is prepared to offer 500 acres of good land for farming, in peace. Finally, may I present you Princess Kwenthrith from the kingdom of Mercia. King Ecbert and the Princess are willing to pay any of your warriors a fat fee for fighting for her.”

“What about my brother?” Ragnar asked.

“The King will agree to release Rollo upon your acceptance of his offer, and upon the safe return of the hostage, King Aelle.”

Ragnar nodded. “I accept the offer.”

“As do I.” Lagertha always seemed to follow Ragnar's lead.

Horik said nothing. But it was plain to Fili that he was not pleased. Fili also saw that Moira was watching Horik's reaction out of the corner of her eye.

.............................................................................................................................................................

The wounded Rollo was returned to his brother, and many of the poorer Vikings chose to stay in England to fight for Princess Kwenthrith. Moira returned to Kattegatt with Ragnar and his family. As the returning warriors streamed into the longhouse, Aslaug flitted about, greeting them, playing the good hostess. “Good to see you, my friends. Welcome home, all of you, and thank the Gods. Lagertha, you are most welcome, please stay.” When she spotted Athelstan, a note of surprise entered her voice. “And you, you came back!”

Athelstan nodded, smiling peacefully. “I did. I came back because you and Ragnar, all of you, are my family.”

Moira appeared from the crush of warriors and slapped the ex-monk on the back. “I'm glad you did. I actually missed you, to my surprise!”

Torstein shoved a horn of mead into his hand, laughing and commanding, “Drink, Priest.”

Athelstan smiled brightly and lifted the horn. “Skål.”

Loud cries of “Skål!” echoed around the hall.

......................................................................................................................................................

It wasn't long before Horik's family joined them in Kattegatt. To Fili's worry (and Moira's), his wife and daughters came accompanied with a reinforcement of many more warriors.

It was morning now, and the two ruling families were gathered around the table in the longhouse for breakfast.

“Next summer, I say we should return to Wessex, claim our land from King Ecbert,” Björn was saying. “Those who wish to farm should do so, and divide the land between them.”

“What should the rest of us do, hmm?” Horik asked, his tone the same annoyed one he used whenever he addressed Ragnar or his family these days. “Those who do not wish to be farmers.”

“Those can join King Ecbert and Princess Kwenthrith in the battle for Mercia,” the eldest Ragnarson responded. “I am sure they will be rewarded well.”

“I agree with you,” Horik said. “I think we should claim the land, but I do not like the idea of being Ecbert's handmaiden. I still have a score to settle with him and unlike Ragnar, I do not trust him. He reminds me of the giantess Hel.”

“Are you saying you think Ecbert is a son of Loki?” Moira asked in a bored tone.

“I think underneath, every inch of his flesh is decayed, and greenish-black. Untrustworthy.”

“Yes, that might be true, father. But isn't it best to test him to see if he is honest?” Erlender asked his father.

“I believe he is telling the truth,” Athelstan offered.

“Then you are still innocent,” Lagertha proclaimed. “It doesn't matter how many experiences you have, Athelstan. In the end, you are still like the young monk I first met.”

Horik seemed pleased to see Athelstan taken down a peg. “So you agree with me?” he asked Lagertha.

“No.” She took a deep breath. “I agree that those who wish to farm should do so and also ask for King Ecbert's protection. But for some of us, those of us who still want to raid, we will go elsewhere, explore and discover new places.”

…............................................................................................................................................................

When Sven pulled Moira away from that night's feast, she thought it was for another tryst. Ragnar had spotted them leaving and winked and raised his horn to her as Sven practically dragged her from the hall. But when they were finally alone, and Moira pulled him up to a wall, she was surprised when he didn't respond to her passionate kiss.

“Wait, Brenna, wait.” He was panting slightly when he gently pushed her away.

“What?” Moira sounded annoyed at the interruption, and she moved her hands from his neck to his belt. “There's something I must tell you.” Sven took a deep breath. “And you must believe me. I'm risking my life by telling you this.” Moira's hands stopped at that, and she gazed up at him with worry now.

Sven stroked his hand through her hair with obvious affection, in a way that made Fili feel immediate jealousy, before his words distracted him: “Horik means to wipe you all out, to kill Ragnar and his entire family, including Aslaug, the boys, Lagertha, you.”

Moira's eyes widened. “Why are you telling me this, Sven?”

“Hospitality is one of the nine noble virtues, yes? Earl Ragnar bought us into his home, fed us, gave us beds and a roof, shared his hearth and his winter supplies with us. He is our ally and has done us no wrong. Horik's plan is dishonorable and an offense to the Gods.”

Moira backed up a little now, crossing her arms, suddenly suspicious. “Or you see a chance to back the winning champion and get into a higher position. Maybe you even hope to get into his family.”

Sven chuckled. “If that were my aim, I would have no need to do something so dangerous as to betray a King. Horik has many daughters.”

“All far too young for you,” Moira observed.

“Yes. And too simple. I like my women smart. Like you.” Sven bent and brushed his lips to Moira's earlobe, making her suck in a breath before she asked, “Why would Horik want to kill Ragnar, anyway? Ragnar has brought him much fame and plunder in England.”

“He is threatened by Ragnar's popularity and successes.” Sven drew back and looked into Moira's eyes again, although he wrapped his arms gently around her. “Ever since he executed Jarl Borg, Horik believes he means to crown himself King.”

“That's ridiculous!” Moira scoffed. “Ragnar didn't even want to be Earl in the first place!”

“He did challenge Earl Haraldson to one-on-one combat,” Sven pointed out.

“Yeah, because he had no choice. Haraldson was jealous of him and sent people to kill his _family_. Now Horik is doing the same damn thing! Stupid motherfucker can't learn from history." Moira was fuming, and Sven merely watched her with sharp eyes for a few moments, his hands still on her waist. 

“Why should I trust you?” Her hands were on his chest now, and she was looking up at him imploringly like she desperately _wanted_ to trust him, but after Westeros, after Camelot, and now here … “This could be a trick.”

“What would I _possibly _gain from such a trick?” Sven sighed heavily. “We can go to Earl Ragnar now, if you like.”__

____

Moira considered for a moment. “No. We should wait a while. Everyone saw us leave the hall together. If what you say is true, and we immediately go back and pull Ragnar aside, then Horik will know you betrayed him.” Moira shook her head. “Yeah, that's too dangerous. We'll go to Ragnar after the feast, when most of the warriors will be drunk out of their minds. Lots of people know we've been fucking. We'll have to make sure they believe that's all that happened.”

Sven grinned wolfishly. “The best way to do that, is to actually fuck.” He bent as his lips captured hers and he backed her against the wall. 

..............................................................................................................................................................

It wasn't just Sven who betrayed King Horik. It turned out that the rift between Floki and Ragnar, which had been playing out for some time, had all been an act. Horik had believed that Floki would support him and revealed his plan to him. He tasked Floki with the job of killing Björn, Ragnar's oldest son. Horik had similarly commanded Siggy to kill Ragnar's young sons. Siggy had been sleeping with him for information, and to try to raise Rollo's status. She had been essentially playing both sides until it was time to make a decision. But Horik proved sadly inept at the game he imagined he was playing. Horik was nowhere near as well-loved as Ragnar. So Kattegatt suffered another slaughter, but at the end of this one, Ragnar was not Earl anymore. Ragnar was King. Fili didn't know if Ragnar had wanted the crown, or if, like Moira protested to Sven, that power had been thrust upon him by the actions of others. Moira had not been present for those events, after all. Ragnar was already Earl when she had arrived in Kattegatt. Whatever the truth, Ragnar was now King and Aslaug Queen. Which made Moira officially a Viking Princess, although she didn't seem to like the title.

........................................................................................................................................................

The next spring, as promised, Ragnar and Lagertha left to go to Mercia, Ragnar to fight and Lagertha to establish a farming settlement in the rich English soil. This time, Moira choose to stay behind with her mother to help with her growing brood of children and with baby Ivar.

Before the snows became passable, there came a day when Aslaug was walking along the beach of the fjord with Moira, Helga and Siggy, when they had a conversation that would shape their futures for years to come. Helga and Floki's daughter Agraboda ran and played with Aslaug's older boys, laughing. Helga was the first to speak. “May I tell you something? I have had a dream. I dreamed of a stranger, who was a man, but he had no face. Or none that I could well see. There was snow on the ground and he was walking towards me through the snow, so his footsteps made no sound. His arms were outstretched, and in one hand, he carried a ball of flaming snow. In his other hand....”

Aslaug turned as she interrupted Helga, the thick braid of her hair falling over her shoulder. “His other hand was covered in bright blood.”

Siggy added to the strange, continuing story. “And the blood left a trail in the snow behind him.”

Helga's fair face displayed surprise. “Yes.”

Moira spoke up now, more hesitant than the others. “And the drops were smoking in the frozen ground?”

Helga looked at Moira. “You too?” Then around the circle of women.. “ _All_ of you?”

It was Aslaug who finally stated it after a moment of silence. “We have all dreamed the same dream.”

“Four of us,” Moira said, repeating herself in disbelief. “Four of us. _Four_ of us had the same dream?”

“Were you frightened?” Helga asked.

“No.” Siggy shook her head. “I felt excited. I felt a sense of expectation.”

Moira nodded. “Like something important was happening.”

“And when I woke up,” Aslaug exclaimed, “I was so disappointed it was only a dream!”

Siggy moved to stand in front of the Queen, green eyes looking up into pale blue questioningly. “You are a völva. You say you can see things. What does it mean?”

But Aslaug could do nothing but shrug. “I have no idea. I do not know.”

In the distance, thunder rumbled over the waters.

................................................................................................................................................................

It was only a few days later that Helga brought a stranger to the longhouse. Aslaug, Siggy, and Moira were playing with the older boys, holding baskets up as shields and miming battles, play-acting as foes and dragons for Ubbe and Hvitserk to slay.

When the only blonde in the group entered, shutting the door tightly against cold wind, a heavy feeling settled over the longhouse as the women took in the sight. The strange man wore a dark hood that obscured most of his face, but the blue of his eyes shone out past his graying dark beard. One of his hands was covered in bright red blood. Helga stepped forward and spoke. “This... stranger approached me in the marketplace. He's cut his hand badly, and has asked for our help.”

Aslaug stood. “Of course we will help. Siggy, go and fetch some hot water.” She bent and whispered, “Go with the servants,” to the boys. When they left, she addressed the blonde, “Helga, go and get some strips of cloth for a bandage.” To the stranger himself she asked, “Will you sit by the fire?”

“Thank you,” he said as sat. “You are kind.”

“How did you do this?” Aslaug asked him as she began to clean the wound. He sighed. “I don't know. I was sleeping rough, and... might have caught it on a scythe or a plowshare.”

“What's your name?” Moira asked the weather-worn man as she bought Aslaug the bandages Helga had fetched.

Fili thought he saw the briefest of hesitations before he responded, “Harbard. And what are all of your names?”

“I am Queen Aslaug, wife of King Ragnar Lothbrok. This is Siggy, widow of Earl Haraldson, and Helga, wife of Floki the boat-builder. This is Brenna, my daughter.”

That seemed to surprise Harbard. He leaned close to Aslaug. “Forgive me, but you hardly look old enough to have a daughter so grown.”

Aslaug actually blushed.“I adopted her. She had no home, no family, and stumbled into Kattegatt nearly four winters ago.”

Harbard smiled. “You are kind indeed, then.” Aslaug wasn't a demure flower who tittered at every compliment, but her blush deepened. Harbard continued, “I have heard of King Ragnar. After all, everyone's heard of him. He's famous everywhere. You should not be doing this, Queen Aslaug, for I know who you are, too. Daughter of Sigurd, who slayed the serpent Fafnir."

She smiled at Harbard. “Please. I am happy to do it.”

Siggy seemed to have a instant distrust of the stranger. Or perhaps she didn't like the way her _married_ Queen was looking at him. Fili saw the heat in Aslaug's eyes instantly, but Moira and Helga both seemed too under his spell to notice, fascinated with the stranger they had all dreamed of actually turning out to be _real_. So it was Siggy who questioned him about his story. “You said you were sleeping rough. Why is that?”

“I will sleep wherever I can lay my head. I am a wanderer, and sometimes people offer me hospitality and I sleep on a straw bed, and sometimes I... sleep rough with the cattle for warmth. It is all the same to me.”

Aslaug laughed softly. “Is that true?” she asked as she continued to wind bandages around his hand.

“No. No, I prefer the straw.” Helga laughed this time. “But do not think that I offer nothing in return, hmm? I tell stories. Stories about my own travels. Stories about the Gods. Or both.” He chuckled knowingly when three out of the four women in the room perked up a little at that strange comment. “Hmm? As they say, I... I sing for my supper.”

“Will you sup with us?” Aslaug asked, making Siggy look unhappy.

“If that is acceptable with everyone. And to King Ragnar, of course.”

“Ragnar is not here. He and the men have gone raiding. But you are welcome to what food we have, and to a bed of straw.”

…...........................................................................................................................................................

Harbard did sing for his supper, telling the women stories by the fire of the longhouse, late into the night after they had fed him.“I have been a wanderer for most of my life. I want to tell you of the time that I went to Utgard.”

Aslaug's voice was filled with fascination. “You went to Utgard?”

“It was many years ago,” Harbard began. “I traveled east until I came to that band of water that divides the world of men from Jotunheim. And I rowed and rowed across, until I reached the shores of Utgard, which lies between the waters and mountains.”

“Yes, we have all heard of Utgard.” Helga's eyes were bright with excitement as she spoke, her cheeks flushed from the mead. “It is where the giants live.”

Harbard went on for a long time, telling the story of his supposed adventures in the land of the giants. He was a good story-teller, and it was very entertaining. Finally, though, Siggy said, “Well, it seems to me, it was not you in the Great Hall.”

“Then who was I?” Harbard asked, a sly smile on his lips as he looked at the mead in his drinking horn.  
“You were the god Thor,” Helga responded eagerly. “Only Thor can drain the seas and fight old age.”  
“You're right. I was Thor. The thunder God! But even so, I was still there. And I saw it all with my own eyes.”  
When a piercing cry shattered the peace, Aslaug made to get up, but Moira was faster. She placed her hand on the Queen's shoulder. “Mother, let me.”

“Who is that?” Harbard asked.

Aslaug stood anyway, likely wanting to escape the question. She was the mother of a cripple in a warrior society, and even Siggy had advised her to put her baby out to die. “No one.”

“He is your son.” Harbard didn't ask. He told. “He needs to see me.” Gone was the jovial story-teller as he spoke, and a much more serious, intense man was sitting in his place.

Aslaug squinted at him for a moment, and then turned without answering, taking Moira's elbow and leading her into the bedroom. Moira knelt on the far side of Ivar's cradle, reaching out and stroking the screaming baby's forehead, murmuring,“Shush, little brother,” as Aslaug also tried to comfort the boy. But it was always in vain.

Suddenly Harbard was standing in the doorway. “Queen Aslaug.”

The look of heartbreak on Aslaug's face was as piercing as Ivar's cries. She'd do anything to try to stop her child's pain. She stood aside, sitting on a stool beside Moira as Harbard knelt on the other side of the cradle. As Ivar continued to scream, Harbard began to speak.

“Listen to me, Ivar. All the pain is going away, Ivar. All the pain is going away. I am taking your pain. Hush, good boy. There is no more pain. No more pain, it's all going away.”

As he soothingly spoke, his hand stroking the forehead of the child, slowly Ivar's piercing screams of agony quieted to soft whimpers, and then eventually ceased entirely. Harbard closed his eyes and grimaced, as if in pain himself, but then he continued talking to the babe in the cradle. “ Now you're getting very sleepy, Ivar. Go to sleep. 

That's a good boy. Go to sleep. Good boy. Good boy.”

“How did you do that?” asked Aslaug.

There was awe in Moira's voice. “That wasn't natural. You used magic of some kind.”

Harbard smiled enigmatically.

…............................................................................................................................................................

It wasn't long before Aslaug began to slip off with Harbard, leaving her children in the care of Moira and the other two women. They all knew she was sleeping with him, but only Siggy confronted her about it. The dreams that the women had before Harbard's coming were not the only occurrences in Kattegatt that were … odd. But the next mysterious occurrence was less benign than shared, prophetic dreams.

Cries of “Help! Help me!” carried across the water of the fjord as a small fishing boat came in. Siggy and Moira had gone to buy fresh fish for that night's dinner. The fisherman was still screaming for help as he rowed towards shore. Several more men leapt into the icy water to help him pull his small rowboat to the shore. “Look!” he was babbling. “Look what I caught! Look! Look, by all the Gods, look what I caught in my nets.”

People were beginning to assemble on the beach and wharf, summoned by the commotion.

There were exclamations from the crowd of assembled Vikings. Tangled in his nets were the bodies of two young boys, clearly dead. “They must have drowned, for I can find no marks on their bodies,” the distraught fisherman explained. Two women suddenly rushed from the crowd, each holding the body of their child and screaming their lamentations to the cruel sea.

“How is this possible?” someone asked. “You were so far out to sea.”

“All I know is, my nets were suddenly heavy, like I'd caught a whale.”

Moira turned quickly away from the sight, and in the assembled crowd was Harbard, watching silently, dark hood pulled over his head. Siggy began to fear that Harbard was a God. And in the stories. mortals who consorted with Gods rarely came to happy ends.

............................................................................................................................................................

It was a cold, snowy day when things changed. Aslaug was off, with Harbard, as the other three cared for the children in the longhouse. Ubbe and Hvitserk sat apart, whispering secretively to each other.

“What are you two whispering about?” Moira asked her brothers.

“Where is our mother?” Ubbe asked. _Oh, shit_ , Fili thought. Ubbe was too old to lie to, nearly eight, and he knew something unusual was happening. But when words failed Moira, it was Siggy who answered. She knelt to get to the level of the boys.

“Your mother goes to Harbard because of your brother Ivar. Ivar needs your mother more than you do, and Harbard helps her to look after him. Someday, Ubbe, you will understand what a mother has to sacrifice for her children.”

The sound of Ivar's loud crying from the bedroom summoned Siggy, and when she was gone Ubbe and Hvitserk whispered to each other more, before running out the doors. Moira called after them, but they ignored her. When Siggy returned holding Ivar, she looked concerned. “Where are Ubbe and Hvitserk?”

“They went out,” Helga responded.

The constant look of preoccupied worry that Siggy wore these days intensified. “I don't know why I feel frightened.”

“Siggy, they're smart,” Moira piped up from playing with Sigurd, her second-youngest brother. “They'll be fine. You can't keep them cooped up in the longhouse all winter.”

“No.” Siggy shook her head. “I have to find them. Brenna, take Ivar.” Siggy passed the baby to Moira and rushed from the longhouse. She was still barefoot when she ran out into the snow.

..........................................................................................................................................................

For reasons unknown, Ubbe and Hvitserk tried to cross a frozen lake. Being raised in Norway, they knew better, even at their young age. Yet they did it anyway. The ice cracked and buckled beneath them, and Siggy drowned rescuing them. No one saw it happen.

...........................................................................................................................................................

The next time that Harbard came to the Great Hall of the longhouse, he was dressed as if he was prepared to leave. All he owned was in his small traveler's pack. Only Aslaug and her young children, as well as Moira and Helga with her own daughter, were present in the hall. The talk ceased as soon as he entered and the women turned their eyes to him.

“Why so quiet? Nothing to talk about?”

When Harbard took a step forward, Aslaug took one back, clutching the bundled baby Ivar tighter. “Not with you, perhaps.” Siggy's death had been mysterious, and now this strange wandering man with the power to soothe the pain of Ivar's twisted legs inspired fear, where before there had been desire.

He didn't seem offended. He stopped, his eyes focusing first on the Queen of Kattegatt, and then on Moira and Helga in turn. “So you are tired of me already? Not to worry. It is time for me to be on my way. I am never anywhere too long. I'm too restless. The boy is well. In the future, I doubt he will suffer such pains as before. I've taken some of his pains upon myself. And your friend Siggy, she's also very happy. She's with her husband, sons, and daughter in Valhalla.”

Moira found her voice at that. “How do you know?”

He smiled as if he knew a great deal that they did not. It was unsettling, but not inherently malicious. “I know, sweet Brenna. And if you don't believe me, you could ask the Seer. Farewell then.”

With that, Harbard turned and began to stride from the longhouse, pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head as did so.

“Who are you?” Aslaug called after him, unable to contain her curiosity, even if may have been inadvisable.

Harbard turned halfway back, an enigmatic smile on weather-chapped lips, blue eyes shining brightly from under his hood. All he said in his gentle voice was, “Just a wanderer,” but the words seemed to be laden with so much more meaning. His eyes seemed to flash under the shadow of the hood, and for a moment, Fili could almost believe that this man was what Siggy had believed him to be.

He turned again and walked purposefully away. His long legs carried him past the doors of Kattegatt's Great Hall and out into the pouring rain. The three women looked at each other for a moment. With Harbard's heavy presence gone, none of them seemed sure what to do now. After a moment, Moira shot up from her sitting position and raced to the doors.

“Brenna?” Helga followed her, her blonde hair floating around her shoulders as she went. “Brenna, don't.”

But Moira wasn't listening. She raced out into the rain, following in the footsteps of the mysterious story-teller and healer. Helga stopped at the door and watched them, apprehensive of what the outcome might be.

“Harbard, wait! Wait!” Moira called to Kattegatt's visitor as she ran after him. She had not taken the time to grab a cloak, and the fierce rain pelted her, soaking her blue wool dress and making it heavy. He turned, and once again his eyes shone unnaturally bright out of his bearded face, lighting up the moonless night. “You have a question of me? A question you would not wish the others to hear?”

Moira skidded to a stop in the middle of the muddy road, and she blinked, once, twice, as if she had not really expected him to heed her calls. “You have powers. Where do they come from?” she finally said.

“That is not the question you want to ask.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Harbard chuckled, and one weathered hand came up to cup her cheek. Moira froze. The expression on her face was one of fearful awe. Harbard's intense blue eyes locked on hers, and he suddenly looked … sad. Weighed down.

“You, child, have a long road ahead of you, full of many trials and hardships. You will outlive many friends, _all_ of your family here, and many others besides. You will often wish for death, but it will not come for you, for your journey is a long one. But I can promise you that one day, your journey _will_ end, when it is time.”

Moira's breath was coming quicker now, her eyes welling up. Harbard stroked a tear away with his thumb, his eyes brimming with compassion. “Is this what you seek from me, child? A prophecy? Do not be too eager for knowledge. The hearts of the wise are rarely cheerful.”

The air between them thrummed for a moment.

“Are you Odin?” Moira's voice was a whisper. Harbard finally removed his hand from her cheek before he answered.

“I told your mother, little one. I am but a wanderer.”

“That's just what Odin would say,” she protested.

But Harbard only smiled his typical enigmatic smile and turned to go, walking beyond the boundary buildings of Kattegatt and into the wilderness beyond. The dogs howled as he passed. Moira stood in the rain for a long time and stared into the distance where he had gone.

............................................................................................................................................................

When the longships came back, Aslaug met them at the wharf instead of waiting in the longhouse. That's how Ragnar knew something was wrong. Rollo rushed about in the chaos of returning warriors and reuniting families, calling for Siggy. Aslaug flinched each time she heard the name. When she told them what had happened, and Ragnar demanded to know why Aslaug had not been watching over Ubbe and Hvitserk, Helga spoke up in her defense. She told him that the women had been taking turns caring for the children, and on any other day it could have been her.

“See, I find that odd, considering Siggy's children are dead, and Brenna doesn't have any. Hmm?"

The women stuck to their lie, protecting Aslaug. Until a few days later when Floki managed to drag the truth out of his wife. He told Helga that Harbard was another name for Odin, who told Moira, and the old mystic took it upon himself to inform Ragnar. Apparently Floki told his old friend that he should not be angry with Aslaug, because it was the will of Odin, and, “If it leads to death it also leads to life. For such is the way with the Gods.” But Ragnar didn't see it that way. It was the final stone of Aslaug and Ragnar's marriage crumbling to dust. Although they remained together, the affection they had shared in the early years of their marriage did not return after Aslaug's infidelity. Although to be fair, Ragnar had never been faithful, either, and if the rumors that were quickly hushed when Moira entered the room were true, he had slept with the Saxon Princess Kwenthrith when he had left to fight for her. Love was so much simpler among Dwarves, Fili thought.

So when a few days later Sven asked Moira to be his wife, she kept it to herself for a while. But when it did become common knowledge, Aslaug smiled and was happy for her. Fili had known this was coming, but it still made him ache to see Moira marry someone else. She was _stunning_ in her white wedding dress, her dark hair done in complicated plaits with flowers woven from the top of her head to the ends of her dark strands, a crown of green leaves on her head. Her brown eyes shone with happiness, her cheeks were rosy from excitement, and until Sven appeared Fili let himself imagine that her joy was for him. He was beginning to feel like a ghost, unable to touch or feel or affect the world around him. Moving through her memories like a shade was wearing on him. He still had not seen the little girl from Westeros that he assumed was Moira as a child, although he constantly searched for her. Gandalf had told him that he would know what to do when the time came, but so far, he had no inkling what he was supposed to do. Was she even here? For now, all he could do was continue to watch, and hope to Mahal, or maybe Odin, that _something_ would happen soon.

Fili was surprised at how similar the Viking marriage ceremony was to Dwarven ones, with the exchange of their ancestral swords to keep for their children. The Vikings wore rings upon their fingers instead of marriage beads in their hair, but the ritual was much the same. Well, except for when the bride and groom were both sprinkled with the blood of a sacrificial animal instead of mead. But despite some of the differences between his own culture and the Vikings, he could see also many parallels and similarities. Fili could see now why Moira had allowed her guard down around him. Something about him must have reminded her of home.

.........................................................................................................................................................

Moira's excitement about going to Paris was marred when her friend Athelstan was found murdered just before they were to set off. She had seen him throw his sacred arm ring in the fjord, and when she confronted him about it, he said that his God had come to him. He was Christian again and could no longer acknowledge the Vikings' Deities.

“I've told Ragnar,” he said.

“Doesn't matter. Your life is in danger.” Moira's desire to save her friend's life was at war with her own anger at Athelstan's actions. “The others, they will see this as a betrayal, not just of the Gods, but of _us_ , of Ragnar. That arm ring made you one of us, it was a symbol of Ragnar's respect and love for you. You threw it away like trash!”

The holy man just smiled serenely. “Whatever is to be, will be."

Moira left his house fuming, frustrated at his seeming not to care what happened to him. It was the last time she ever spoke to him.

The siege of Paris was long, but successful, although Ragnar himself was severely wounded in the process. He was unconscious for much of the journey back to Norway. Björn took over command while his father was incapacitated, leaving his uncle in charge of a small camp of Viking soldiers in Frankia. They didn't know it then, but Rollo would betray them all, marry a Frankish princess, slaughter his own men, and defend Paris against them when they returned the following year. When the Vikings returned home to Kattegatt, Moira excitedly told Sven she was with child. But Fili knew their excitement would be short-lived. Moira had already told Fili that she had suffered a miscarriage, even before she lost her first child to a fever.

..............................................................................................................................................................

Moira's eyes were red, and she was still physically weak, but she sat up in the bed and tried to put on a brave face when Ubbe came into the room.

“Are you all right, Brenna?” The boy's voice was soft. Although in truth, he would not be a boy for much longer. He was nearly 10 years old, and sprouting like a reed. He was nearly as tall as Moira now, and in a short time he would no doubt tower over her, as his father, uncle and half-brother did. His blue eyes were a paler shade than Ivar's intense cerulean ones, and it was already plain that he would be very handsome when he was grown. Now those eyes were shining with concern and kindness. Fili didn't know if it was because he was the oldest of Aslaug and Ragnar's brood, or if it was just a part of his nature, but Ubbe had always been kind. Perhaps a tad too kind for the warrior culture he was born into. Ubbe was the peacekeeper when his brothers fought, the one who kept his temper in check and made sure that everyone was cared for in all circumstances.

“Of course. I'm fine, Ubbe.”

He was also intelligent. “You don't have to lie to me. I know you lost your baby.” He came closer to the bed.

Moira sighed. “Did your mother tell you?”

“I wouldn't need her to. I have eyes.” Ubbe cocked his head to the side. “And I think you mean _our_ mother,” he corrected her. “You always do that. Withdraw from connection when things get hard. But we're your family, Brenna. I was barely three years old when you came to live with us. I hardly remember a time when you were not a part of our lives.”

Moira's eyes became misty, but a smile was quirking at the corner of her lips as she regarded her little brother. 

“Are you really only nine years old? You scold me like you're an old man already.”

“Well, if you're going to fall into self-pity ...”

Moira laughed. “Come here.

Ubbe obeyed, and she drew the lanky boy into a tight hug. She kissed the side of his head and rubbed his back. “You're going to grow up to be a great man, you know that? Not just great, and smart, but kind too. Sometimes, people remember the first two, and forget how important the last is.”

“Are you hungry, sister?” Ubbe asked.

“Still taking care of me?”

“Someone has to, while your husband is away. There is still some dried reindeer. I can bring you some, so you don't have to get out of bed yet. You still need to heal.”

She nodded her consent and Ubbe left in search of food.

.................................................................................................................................................................

A year later, Moira conceived again, and Fili almost wished he could skip this part, because he knew what was going to happen. He knew she'd lose her son. Moira gave birth in the dead of winter, so Sven was present for his first son coming into the world. It was nearing Yule, the longest night of the year. In Norway it was dark nearly all the time when the dark-eyed child was born. He was unnaturally silent, calm, and the midwife thought at first that he was stillborn. But he simply peered out at the world calmly with his dark eyes as he sucked on his thumb. When Sven held Moira as she put the babe to her breast, stroking the little one's face and cooing softly to him, Fili's heart hurt more than it ever had. He knew the heartache she'd suffer in a short time.

Little Sven was named for his father, and as he grew he became dirty-blonde like him, but he had Moira's brown eyes, round face, and full lips. He giggled and laughed often, playing with his uncles and with Björn's daughter Siggy. Fili thought that motherhood suited Moira. She _glowed_ in a way he had never seen her before, smiling wider and more honestly than he could scarcely believe. She delighted in the child, sweeping him up in her arms, doting on him. Which made the pang in his chest all the worse, knowing that the sickness that would take her child from her was coming. Nearly two years later, it did.

..............................................................................................................................................................

Moira ran the sharp edge of the blade across the throat of the goat, quick and sure. There were no bleats, and the small creature barely struggled as it bled the bright red essence of its life out into the bowl. She chanted the ancient words, the plea to Eir and Freyr to end the sickness that had descended on Kattegatt.

The herbs hadn't worked. The ointments hadn't worked. Little Sven wasn't getting better. His little body was racked by fever, coughing uncontrollably, and she had barely slept as she stayed by his bed through it all. Fili could see that every whimper or cry from the boy's tiny lips cut her straight to the core. Nothing had worked. A sacrifice to the Healers of the Aesir was all she had left. Prayer was all she had left. Fili already knew it would be fruitless. She dipped her fingers into the blood, which was steaming in the cold winter air. She continued to chant as she painted a stripe down the side of her face. When her prayer was done, she poured the bowl of blood into the snow, the bright red stark against the clean crispness of the white. She left the slave to clean up the body of the goat.

When she entered her house, the air felt thick and oppressive with the smell of sick. Fili caught sight of a familiar figure standing in the living room.

“Mother?” Moira's voice sounded terrified. Fili understood. Why was Aslaug here by herself? Where were her servants? And Aslaug hardly went anywhere without Ivar these days …. unless she feared him catching the sickness. This was it, wasn't it?

When Fili saw the look on Aslaug's face, he knew. Moira knew as well, before the words even came from her mother's mouth. “Brenna … your son …..”

 _ **“NOOOO!”**_ The wail that came from Moira's throat didn't sound like her, barely sounded human. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor. Aslaug knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around her shaking form and drawing her into a tender embrace. “Shush, daughter,” she whispered, tears pricking her own pale blue eyes at the death of her first grandchild.

“My son, my firstborn, my only child!” Moira wailed. She couldn't do anything but scream and cry, beating her fists into Aslaug's chest as her adoptive mother held her. Fili sank to his knees beside her, unseen, unfelt, intangible as he always was.

“Oh, Amrâlimê,” Fili whispered soothing words to his One alongside Aslaug, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. He did it more for himself than for her. His own eyes were welling up with hot tears on her behalf … losing a child was unimaginable, but for Little Sven to go while she was sacrificing to her Gods for him to be healed, for that extra-cruel punch to the gut …... Fili's fingers hovered above Moira's back, wishing with all his might that he could comfort her, stroke her the way Aslaug was. But he knew this was just a memory, and he would pass right through her if he tried. Still, it felt so real to him. Fili found his hands making the motions anyway, a half-inch above her skin, craving the illusion of intimacy in that moment.

“Why would the Gods do this to me, Mother?” Moira sobbed.

“Who can know the mind of the Gods?” Aslaug was calm and collected, as always. Even when devastated she kept herself in tight control.

“You have the Sight!” Moira howled, unfairly lashing out as the sobs continued to cause her to shake. “Why didn't you see it??!!”

“I do not know.” Aslaug's hands were stroking her hair, and Moira buried her face in Aslaug's long neck as she cried. The Queen of Kattegatt bore the assault of snot and tears well, whispering soothing things to her daughter-by-law. When Moira's tears had quieted to soft sniffles, Aslaug told her why she had come. “I came to tell you that Helga lost her daughter yesterday....”

“Angrboda, too?” Moira whispered numbly. “What do I tell Sven?” she sniffed, the tears returning.

“The truth,” Aslaug responded calmly. “That it was the will of the Gods. And that you'll have other children.”

“Will I?” Her voice sounded hollow. “Mother, I'm old.”

“You are not old!”

Moira sniffed again. “I didn't get married till I was 31. If Sven leaves me, no other man would risk breeding with me.”

Aslaug held her tighter. “He will not leave you.”

“How do you know? Have you had a vision?”

“No. I just know. He loves you, it is plain to any who have eyes.”

“Ragnar loved Lagertha. He left her for you because she couldn't have any more children.”

 _Oh_. Aslaug's hand on Moira's hair stilled, and she pursed her lips. What Moira had said was clearly at least half-true, because Aslaug was not sure what to say in response.

“It doesn't matter anyway,” Moira said softly. Oh yes, Fili recognized _this_ Moira. That familiar hopelessness was beginning to set in now. She was likely thinking of Harbard's prophecy.

“It does matter,” Aslaug protested. “You will have other children, I promise you.”

Over Aslaug's murmuring and Moira's sobs, Fili heard another small sound, one he thought he recognized from long ago …. he sought its source. Through his own tears, it took Fili a moment to process what he was seeing. It was the child, the dark-haired little girl he had first spotted in Westeros, and then again in the Marvelverse. She was crying silently, clutching that worn stuffed rabbit still, watching Aslaug hold her adult self. As if she felt Fili's attention on her, her red-rimmed eyes locked on his. Fili's heart leapt into his throat. It was now, or be trapped in this hellish dream forever.

“Moira?” Fili scrambled to his feet, desperate to talk to her. This child was _her_ , he was _sure_ of it! In his desperation, he wasn't being careful or cautious as he rushed towards her. Child-Moira's tearful brown eyes widened and she stumbled backwards, falling to the ground, dropping the rabbit.

“Moira, I'm sorry,” he immediately apologized, reaching for her, meaning to help her up. But she scooted away in a kind of crab-walk, wide eyes focused on him. _She's afraid of me_ , he realized in horror. He opened his mouth, meaning to say something reassuring, but no sound came out.

Suddenly Child-Moira grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it in his face, running out the door. It shut with a loud _slam!_ behind her. Fili coughed and hacked, rubbing at his eyes. The particles of earth stung his eyes and clogged his nostrils. After a moment, a thought struck him like a ton of bricks. The dirt she had thrown should have passed through him. _It hadn't passed through him_. Hope swelled in his chest. She had affected him! Like he was _real!_ Fili ran out the door, into the nearly-empty street of Kattegatt, but the little girl was nowhere to be seen.

…........................................................................................................................................................

The hunched figure of the Seer was half-shrouded in shadow. Under his tattered hood, his face looked as if it had been melted, the skin lumpy and deformed, covering his eyes. His lips were smeared in black make-up. He was a strange, foreboding figure, and treated with a combination of respect, awe and disgust by the Vikings. He was forced to live outside the city walls, because he appeared to have some terrible wasting disease. He was also considered _ergi_ , unmanly, because the type of magic he practiced was usually the domain of women only. But he was still left alone to live his life, and in times of trouble they still turned to him for his wisdom, and his consultations were held in high esteem. It was a strange contradiction.

“I have wondered if you would ever come to see me.” The Seer's voice was deep and raspy, and despite not being able to see through his ruined, flesh-covered eyes, he always seemed to know who was standing before him. Now, it was Moira who stood hesitantly in the doorway of the hut that was hung with strings of bones from small creatures.

“You have dwelt in Kattegatt for many years, and yet never have you come to my hut,” he addressed her without turning.

She took several faltering steps forward into the hut. “I want to know something.”

“Everyone wants to know the future, until they _know_ their future.” He sounded centuries old, weary, exhausted. 

“You all must awaken me from my slumber, unearth me to sorrow, to feel the red rage of the world's pain. Why must you badger me so? Why do you not leave me in peace?”

Moira finally strode forward, settling on her knees in front of the Seer. “I want to know, why did the Gods take my son from me?”

The Seer said nothing, merely fiddling with a handful of bones and smooth pebbles.

Moira pursed her lips in annoyance. She leaned closer to him. “Am I being punished for something? Why is this happening to me?”

“Why is what happening to you?”

“This … _life_.” Fili could see that Moira was phrasing her question in such a way to test the Seer's knowledge, to not give away too much. The Seer cackled in laughter. “Why does this _life_ happen to anyone? None of us have asked to be born, yet here we are.”

Moira huffed in indignation, but the Seer continued, “My vision is clouded around you, girl. I see not the future – ”

“Does that mean I don't have a future?”

He growled angrily at her interruption. “I only see what the Gods allow me to see, and I can only say what the Gods allow me to say.”

Moira sighed in frustration. “Does that mean you don't see my future, or that you will not tell me?”

“Neither. Both. It does not matter.”

“Oh, that's nice and clear! Hedging your bets, are you? Maybe you don't really have the Sight after all!”

“It means that you are not to know yet! But I _do_ see the past, and I see that you are much older than you say.”

Her posture stiffened suddenly. So he did see _something_. “Fine. Tell me my husband's future.”

“A clever one, you.” The Seer let out a great cackling laugh. He cocked his deformed head to the side, as if listening to voices only he could hear, and then cast the handful of stones and bones to the ground. He studied them intently, although he couldn't possibly have _seen_ them, before he finally answered. “Your husband will live and die by the sword, as any good Viking should. But that is not your real question. There are two more children in your husband's future, and they _will_ survive their childhood. They will both become great warriors and found great families. The son of your husband will serve a great King. His name will be sung as a mighty warrior, and he will discover many faraway lands. Your husband's daughter will be known not only for her great beauty, but also her cleverness. She will have many strong children, and your name and memory will live on through them and their children. Is this the answer to your question?”

.........................................................................................................................................................

After his humiliating defeat at his brother's hands, Ragnar was a broken man. He had ruled wisely and justly as Earl. But the pressures of kingship had gotten to him, and his words to Björn about the dangers of power proved to be sadly prescient. He never recovered from Athelstan's murder at the hands of his other closest friend. Ragnar Lothbrok drowned under the weight of his own legend. The stories about him had grown to such massive heights, how could any one man live up to them? He was due for a defeat. For that defeat to come from his own kin, the brother whose life he had spared when he fought against him before … it was too much for him to bear, let alone live down. Ragnar disappeared from Kattegatt, abandoning his wife, his sons and adopted daughter, and his people.

If Ragnar had been any other man, it was likely that some Earl with ambition would have moved in to try to take Ragnar's place as King. But the legend of Ragnar Lothbrok still haunted the minds of Vikings everywhere, and his specter hung over Kattegatt like a ghost. His memory was respected and his legacy endured. As it was, during the years of Ragnar's absence, Aslaug ruled in Kattegatt in all but name, and she did it well. Kattegatt grew from a small village to a large and important trading post in Norway. At times Moira sat beside Aslaug in the Great Hall of the longhouse when she made her judgments, but Ragnar's throne was always left empty.

Moira and Sven's second child was born during a fierce thunderstorm. The rain pounded and the wind howled so loudly that it drowned out Moira's screams at the same time that outside, trees were bent backwards. When the girl finally came into the world, red-faced and squalling, she was named Thora, in honor of the God Who had announced her birth. A few years later, a boy followed, this one with curls as blond as his sister's were dark. They named him Eirik, after Sven's father who recently entered Valhalla. Both children had their father's brilliant blue eyes, and would no doubt grow as tall as he was.

Aslaug asked Floki to teach Ivar the deep secrets, the ancient Viking stories and magics that were known to only a few. Which meant that Floki and Moira were crossing paths more than ever before. While the rift between Floki and Ragnar had been … exaggerated for Horik's benefit, the mystic's feelings about Athelstan's Saxon and Christian origins, and Moira's similarly presumed roots, were very real. Eventually, they were forced to make peace with each other, for Ivar's sake. Floki told her that he was tormented by dreams, visions, of a world where his people had turned from the Gods and the Christ-God reigned supreme. Moira knew that he was seeing the future, but dared not explain that to him. She told the boat-builder that she could never forgive him for killing Athelstan, but that she understood _why_ he had done it. Helga, of course, was delighted that her friend and her husband were no longer at odds. Moira frequently brought Ivar to Floki when Aslaug was otherwise indisposed. And Fili found that it was from watching his lessons with the old mystic that Moira learned how to cast and read the runes.

Moira's brothers grew into fine specimens of Viking manhood. Ubbe was undoubtedly the shepherd of the group, and as time passed he became the spitting image of Ragnar in his youth. Hvitserk was always laughing, eyes sparkling with some jest he had made. Sigurd played a lute-like instrument called the oud, and all of the elder three were favored by the Viking maidens. Moira was especially close with Ubbe and with Ivar, the eldest and the youngest of Aslaug's sons. Hvitserk was easygoing by nature, but Sigurd resented Moira's attention to Ivar. Just as he resented his mother's doting on his younger sibling.

Ivar had a fearsome temper, the result of being born a cripple in a land that valued strength above all else. The servants lived in fear of his frequent outbursts. But Moira had never treated him like a cripple, and he always softened when she, or one of her children, came into the room. When they were alone, she told him that others would always underestimate him because of his legs, but that it could be an advantage. He had a mind for tactics and strategy that his brothers did not, and even with twisted legs he had skill with the sword, bow, and throwing axes. He just needed a way to prove himself.

And then one day, Ragnar came back.

It was the same day that Fili _finally_ spotted the small dark-haired child he had first seen in Westeros. He took it as a sign that Moira's happiness was about to be shattered.

...............................................................................................................................................................

The door opened and Ivar dragged himself into the room.

“Uncle Ivar!” Thora and Eirik cried out simultaneously. Moira's children were delighted to see their favorite uncle, who spoiled them rotten.

“Brenna, your house seems to be infested with rats,” he joked good-naturedly, pulling himself up onto the nearest chair with his disproportionately strong arms.

"I'm not a rat!" The blond tow-headed boy protested.

“Quite large rats, and their squeaking is getting very annoying, too.” Ivar studiously ignored his nephew's bid for the attention, his customary smirk on his face as focused his cunning blue eyes on Moira instead. “You might want to do something about that, sister.”

“Hello, Ivar.” Moira smiled at her favorite brother as she handed him a drink. There was gray streaked in Moira's hair now, but Fili thought she was still beautiful. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” he said nonchalantly, still ignoring the children as Eirik fairly flailed his arms. Thora simply climbed into her uncle's lap, demanding attention, just as Sven entered from the bedroom, tugging on a dark-colored wool tunic. “Good morning, Ivar.” He greeted his wife's brother as if he was used to waking up with him in their house. The tall Viking proceeded to scoop up the pouting Eirik in his arms, flinging him above his head for a moment. The boy squealed with delight.

“What's new?” Sven asked the dark-haired Ragnarson seated at the table.

“Nothing.” Ivar scowled. “Kattegatt is as boring as ever.”

“Boring is good,” Moira interjected. “The last time Kattegatt was exciting, a king tried to wipe out your entire family.”

“Yet Sven betrayed Horik and warned you,” he pointed out, and then smiled wickedly. “You must be _really_ good in bed, sister.”

Moira made an exaggerated offended face and smacked the back of her little brother's head. Turning to her husband, she demanded, “Aren't you going to defend my honor?”

“What?” Sven protested. “He didn't say anything bad. Or incorrect.” He smirked, and Moira gasped and threw a hunk of bread at him, before the three started to laugh. Few in Kattegatt saw this side of Ivar. He was only happy with his mother, Moira, and occasionally with Ubbe.

“Sister.” Suddenly Ubbe burst into the room without any ceremony. “Good, Ivar, you're here.” He looked shaken and was slightly paler than usual.

"Ubbe, you look like you've seen a ghost," Ivar greeted his eldest brother mockingly.

“I may have." He took a deep breath. "Come quick. The people in the market .... They're saying that Ragnar's back."

................................................................................................................................................................

Ragnar's head was bald now, his tattoos faded, his beard long and gray, and he moved with a limp, slightly bent with age. But it was plainly him. As he walked through the market of Kattegatt, the whispering crowd parted, unable to believe their eyes. Ubbe shouldered his way through the crowd, followed by Moira and his younger brothers. Ivar drug himself along the ground beside them. Ragnar came to a stop, smiling down at his youngest son, the only one who seemed happy to see him. “Hello, Ivar. There's no mistaking you.”

His attitude changed suddenly from gentle to confrontational as he spun around to address the crowd. “It appears my return is not welcome. You've obviously all made your mind up about me. I cannot blame you for that. Well, boys, who is going to do it, then? Who's going to kill me? Well, I don't mind.” He turned back to his sons. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd had unsheathed swords clutched tightly in their hands, but their faces were awash in a sea of conflicting emotions. “What about you, Hvitserk? You think you're a man now? I dare you. Put me out of my misery. Do it. Do it!” His tirade continued. “Look at these people! They no longer support me! Look! Why would they? I am your leader, and I just left! What kind of leader does that, huh? What kind of king abandons his people? What kind of father abandons his sons? So, who wants to be king? Oh, you know how this works! If you want to be king, you must kill me.” He spun in a circle, addressing random watchers in the crowd. “Take it. No? You? No? What about you? No? Anyone? Who wants to be king?” Ragnar plunged the sword into the ground theatrically, bellowing, “WHO. WANTS. TO. BE. KING?!”

Fili turned away from the drama before him when he saw the small dark-haired girl in the crowd, still clutching the stuffed rabbit. He approached her slowly this time, not wanting to scare her and cause her to run away again. “Amber?” he called softly.

She watched him approach with wide eyes. Finally, she spoke. “I remember you.”

Fili got down on one knee so he could be on her level and look directly into her dark eyes. “I'm sorry if I frightened you before.”

“I'm sorry too. I didn't think anyone could see me.”

“No one can see me, either. You're the first.” Fili smiled warmly. It felt good to have someone respond to him, even if it was a phantom piece of Moira's personality. She smiled shyly, and Fili felt a rush of tenderness. Then he saw the bruises on her thin arms.

“Who did that to you?” Fili couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, and he instantly regretted it when he saw her shrink back from his reaching hand. “I'm sorry. I'm – worried,” he said as he dropped his hand, willing it not to ball into a fist at his side.

Child-Moira dropped her dark eyes to her bare feet. “Daddy says I shouldn't talk to strangers.”

Her _father_ did this to her? Fili struggled to control his rage and answer in a gentle, reassuring tone. “I'm not a stranger.”

“He says I'm bad.”

Fili could feel his heart breaking. What kind of _monster_ would say that to a child? Cautiously, he reached out and gently touched her chin. As he had suspected, she felt solid to him. He didn't pass through her like a ghost this time. It was a relief to feel real again. He lifted her chin, bringing her eyes to his. “You're not. I promise you, you're not.”

“I am. I'm bad on purpose."

Now he was just confused. “Why would you …?”

“So Daddy will hit me instead of Davey.”

Realization hit him then. “Your brother.” His voice came out in a whisper. She nodded, and her lip quivered a little. Fili pulled her into an embrace, and felt her small, frail body quake against him. He held her tighter, feeling a great protectiveness well up along with his sadness. So that was the origin of her self-sacrificing streak. So much made sense now.

“AMBER!!!” A loud, angry male voice broke the moment, and she pulled away from him fearfully, eyes large in her small face. “Daddy's home.”

There was now a large, foreboding door standing in the middle of the marketplace, not connected to any walls or structures. The girl slipped from Fili's arms. Fili tried to follow her, but the door slammed shut with a resounding _crack_ that was louder than it should be. He pounded on the door, tried to pry it open, but to no avail. He fell to the ground, and the door disappeared. Once again he was invisible, intangible, and trapped in memories.

................................................................................................................................................................

“Ivar cannot sail to England with his father. He'll die, Brenna, he'll die!” Aslaug was pacing her bedchamber, her usual calm and tight control shattered. Moira stood against the doorway, arms crossed. 

“So?” was all she said, causing Aslaug to stop and gape at her, but Moira continued. “He's a Viking. You _can't_ deny him this.”

“I can't lose him!” Aslaug declared. 

“What did you expect, Mother, when you had me bring him back?” Moira's voice was gentle, but firm, laying out her reasoning. “Did you think he would stay at your side forever? You chose not to leave him for the wolves, even though he is a cripple. These are the consequences of that choice. He's not a child anymore. He's a man. Let him be one.”

Aslaug collapsed on the bed, tears rolling down her face. “Even if he dies?” she said weakly.

Moira moved to kneel in front of her adopted mother. “If he dies, Odin will take him to Valhalla. Let him die like a warrior, with pride, with an ax in his hand. Not in a sick-bed.”

”You're not going, are you, Brenna?” Aslaug's voice was a waver. “My dream …. the storm …. I cannot lose you both.” 

Moira sighed. “No, Mother, I'm not going. I wouldn't go even if you hadn't had the dream. Ragnar abandoned us long ago. My children are here, you're here. My life is in Kattegatt."

..................................................................................................................................................................

Ivar was the only one of Ragnar's sons who went with him to England. Hvitserk went with Björn to explore the Mediterranean Sea and discover new worlds that no Viking had ever been to. Sven went with them. When Ubbe and Sigurd were called briefly away to Hedeby, there was no way for them to know that it was the first step of Lagertha's betrayal. So it happened that Moira was the only one of Ragnar and Aslaug's children who was present when Kattegatt was invaded.

Moira lead a valiant defense of her city, but most of the able-bodied fighting men had gone. Lagertha was Kattegatt's ally and knew when and where to attack. It was hopeless, but she wouldn't let herself give up. As two shieldwalls clashed together in the marketplace – the same marketplace she was buying food for her children in just yesterday – Moira hacked and slashed and stabbed over her shield into the tangle of encroaching warriors ramming forward. The city rang with the clash of steel on steel and the sound of the wooden shields splintering, the cries of the wounded and dying ringing out and then falling into silence.

“Stop!” Lagertha finally called from the back of the line. “That's enough. These are my people.” When Lagertha's men and shieldmaidens stopped their assault, the defenders of Kattegatt saw they were hopelessly outnumbered and threw down their weapons. Moira was the only one who still stood defiant, her half-cracked wooden shield held in front of her, a sword raised above her head, a small hand ax still on her belt.

“Brenna.” Lagertha stepped forward, sword still in hand. “I have no wish to harm you.”

“Then leave.”

Lagertha smiled. “Only fight when you know the odds are in your favor. That is our way.”

“Yours, maybe,” Moira spat. “I'll defend my home, my mother, to the death.”

Just then Aslaug exited the longhouse, cutting short the confrontation between the two shieldmaidens. She was richly arrayed in furs and jewels, adorned as the Queen of Kattegatt, and carrying her father's ancestral sword flat across her palms. The crowd parted for her, and she came to stand beside her daughter. Moira took her cues from Aslaug and lowered her sword, but glowered at her as she did so.

“How strange, Lagertha, that you should play the usurper. One woman against another. It doesn't quite fit with your reputation.”

“I was never the usurper. Always the usurped.” She sheathed her sword as she continued, “You took my husband, my world, and my happiness. The fact that you're a woman is neither here nor there.”

“I didn't take your husband,” Aslaug retorted. “He chose to be with me.”

“He didn't choose. You're a witch. You bewitched him.”

Aslaug smiled the long-suffering smile of someone who was used to being demonized. “If that's what you want to believe, it's up to you. I don't disagree women can have power over men. But it's not always magical, is it, Lagertha? In any case, Ragnar is dead.”

A loud murmur went up from the crowd. Lagertha took in a sharp, disbelieving breath. “You don't know that.”

“I dreamed it,” Aslaug responded. “I warned him about his journey. In my dream, his boats were sunk in a storm. Ragnar died. So did my son, Ivar.”

“But you don't _know_ that.”

“No. I don't know that for sure. It was just a dream.”

“And I have dreamed of taking back my home.” Lagertha directed the conversation back to Aslaug's imagined slights against her. “I have dreamed it for a long time. But if I have to fight for it, then I will.”

Aslaug smiled again, and there was a knowing sharpness to it, almost mocking. “Don't worry. I could never fight you, Lagertha. I am not my mother, nor yet my father. I would never win.”

“But I could.” Moira spoke for the first time. The two older women facing off in the square paused and looked at her, and Moira stepped forward to look into her adoptive mother's eyes. “Mother, let me fight for you. Single combat. Let me be your champion.”

Aslaug shook her head. “No, Brenna. You are a great warrior, but not so great as that.”  
But Moira was insistent. “If I won, I would win great fame and glory. And if I fall, it would be honorable, a good death to earn my way into Valhalla. Mother, please! I love you! Let me defend you.”

“NO! I will not risk you. You are my only daughter.” Aslaug turned back to Lagertha, throwing the sword to the ground with a clatter. The crowd murmured again. Aslaug looked at Moira expectantly. With a grumble, she threw down her sword and shield. Moira still fingered the small ax at her belt as Aslaug turned back to Lagertha. “But still, I have fulfilled my destiny. The Gods foretold Ragnar would have many sons. And I have given him those sons. I am as much a part of his saga, Lagertha, as you are. But now I renounce everything.” The crowd's muttering and murmuring intensified. “All I ask is safe passage. All I ask is that you let me leave here in peace, alongside my daughter and grandchildren, to go wherever the Gods decide. And you shall have back your hearth and home, with my blessing. And my sons, when they hear how it was done, will be grateful for the manner of it. And not seek revenge.”

Lagertha said only two words. “I understand.”

“Thank you.” The taller woman swept regally past her, Moira by her side. For a few moments, it seemed that Lagertha would allow them to leave Kattegatt peacefully. Then there was a _whoosh_ through the air, a falter in Aslaug's step, and the ousted Queen fell to her knees, an eerie half-smile on her lips. _Did she foresee her own death?_ Fili wondered as she fell. An arrow was embedded in her back, and Lagertha held the bow.

“NOOO!!!!” The cry of anguish from Moira was loud enough to rouse a flock of ravens that had been perched on the roofs of the nearby buildings. They took to the overcast sky, cawing loudly as she drew the ax from her belt and made to launch herself at the older shieldmaiden. Lagertha's cry of “Stop!” made her freeze in place, a snarl of hatred still marring her features. The invader had another arrow notched, the point aimed at Moira's heart now. Moira froze in place, the ax still raised above her head, her arm quivering in her rage. When she spoke again, Lagertha's voice was calm, but firm.

“I don't want to kill you, Brenna. My son loves you like a sister.” Her voice softened slightly, “And your children need their mother,” before hardening again. “But I _will_ kill you. If you make me.”

“You hateful bitch!” Moira spat. “You spent 20 years hung up on one man? You're pathetic!”

“Go to your brothers, Brenna. Tell them what has happened here.”

“My children ...”

“Are under my protection now. No harm will come to them.”

“You mean they're your _hostages_ ,” Moira snarled as she lowered her ax.

“Call it what you like.”

“I won't forget this,” Moira growled. “I will kill you one day, Lagertha. We will have our revenge.”

“I will be waiting.”

“You are not invincible, Lagertha. And you are getting old.”

................................................................................................................................................................

Moira met Ubbe and Sigurd on the road to Hedeby as they raced back. They had been imprisoned during their visit there, and they were aware that _something_ had happened in Kattegatt, although they hadn't yet heard what it _was_. It was Moira who had the unfortunate task of informing her brothers of their mother's demise. Ubbe wanted to attempt to kill Lagertha right away, but Sigurd advised caution. With Hvitserk, Sven, Ivar, and most of Kattegatt's fighters gone, Lagertha had all the power. More than that, Sigurd didn't think that Aslaug would have tried to avenge _them_. While they were trying to decide what to do, Ivar returned, on an _English_ boat. Without Ragnar. King Ecbert had turned Ragnar over to King Aelle of Northumbria. Aelle was on significantly less friendly terms with Ragnar and the Northmen than Ecbert's friend-then-enemy-then-friend status. It was likely that Ragnar was already dead.

.................................................................................................................................................................

Fili gasped in surprise as he found himself floating in cold water. After floundering for a moment, he recovered, paddled, and looked around. Moira was beside him, wearing a thin, wet shift. Fili tried not to get distracted by the sight of her soaking wet, water droplets falling from her strands of dark hair in her face. She was beautiful like this, but she was plainly upset about something. Ubbe and Sigurd were swimming close to her, talking quietly. One of them cast a worried glance to the shore, and that was when Fili noticed the shieldmaidens standing guard. Lagertha's shieldmaidens. So they had decided to return to Kattegatt, to their home, but were being kept under guard in case they tried anything.

“What are we going to do?” Moira whispered.

“If Father is dead -” Ubbe started.

“Mother and Father.” Sigurd sounded unbelieving. “That makes us orphans now.”

“I said 'If.'” Ubbe pointed out. “It is possible that Lagertha might change her mind about keeping us alive.”

“Of course she might. How can we trust her?” Sigurd was looking from one to the other of his elder siblings for direction.

Moira snorted. “We can't.”

“Of course not,” Ubbe confirmed. “But if we try and kill her, all furies will be released. And who would support us?”

“Mother _and_ Father.” Sigurd shook his curly head mournfully. “I can't believe it.”

“Even if it is true about Father, we must bide our time. We would be fools to give ourselves away so quickly.”

“So, what about Ivar?” Sigurd looked to the riverbank, where the youngest Ragnarson was sitting, playing with a dagger, a darker glower than usual on his handsome face. “How do we control him? You tell me, brother.”

“Brenna, he listens to you.” Ubbe sounded cajoling, like he knew he was assigning her a near-impossible task.

“Only sometimes,” Moira protested.

“Well, it's still going to be _your_ job to control him now.”

“That'll work out well,” Sigurd muttered.

“And what if I agree with him, Ubbe? Lagertha has _my children!_ ”

“It is _**for**_ Thora and Eirik that we should bide our time!” Ubbe insisted. “We must wait until Hvitserk and your husband return.”

“You're forgetting that _Björn_ is with Hvitserk and Sven,” Moira argued. “Whose side do you think Björn is gonna be on? If we are going to do something, it needs to be _now_.”

.............................................................................................................................................................

Despite the dishonorable way that Lagertha had won the crown of Kattegatt, she was still highly respected. There were cries of “Welcome back!” and “Lagertha!”, as well as applause and cheering, as the black-dressed Queen ascended to the throne in the center of the longhouse's Great Hall. Ubbe, Sigurd, and Moira were standing at the front of that hall to listen to what she had to say, but their faces were stony.

“Today marks a new dawn for Kattegatt,” Lagertha began. “For all of us. We do not know King Ragnar's fate, or whether he will ever return.” The quiet murmurs began at that. “You have not been ruled properly for a long time, and many things have been neglected. Kattegatt has changed so much in the last few years. It has grown and flourished. By all account, it is now the largest, richest trading center in Norway.”

“And how would that have happened if we hadn't been ruled properly?” Moira muttered.

“Do you have something to say, Brenna?” Lagertha stopped her speech to turn her cold eye on the defiant Princess. 

Surprise flashed in Moira's dark eyes, no doubt at the older woman's sharp hearing, but she didn't back down. “Kattegatt wouldn't have become the trading center it has under bad leadership, Queen Lagertha.” The word “Queen” was emphasized with a sneer.

Lagertha raised a perfect golden eyebrow. And how had a woman of her years barely aged? And she called _Aslaug_ the witch? “Perhaps. But that is neither here nor there.”

“But –”

“I am speaking!” Lagertha cut Moira off. When she was certain that the brunette had fallen silent, she continued. “Others are bound to be envious of our success. And they must look at us and wonder why we make so little effort to protect ourselves. It is my belief that we should begin to build fortifications, ditches and palisades, around this site. And it is my hope, as your Queen, that everyone, men, women and children, the fit and the wounded, will contribute to this great work.” Lagertha stood then, looking over the crowded hall. “Those who share my belief say aye.”

There was a chorus of “Ayes” from the crowd, but Ubbe, Sigurd and Moira stayed pointedly silent. There was the sound of thudding and grunts, and the crowd parted, an uncomfortable silence falling.

Ivar was dragging himself across the floor of the longhouse, using two daggers to pull himself forward. The thud and scrape of the daggers was particularly ominous-sounding for some reason. Although perhaps it was the palpable aura of anger and hatred that Ivar was giving off that caused that.

Ubbe placed a stool in the center of the room for him to climb up onto. Moira almost immediately moved to stand closer to her youngest brother.

“Welcome, Ivar,” Lagertha called, but her voice sounded anything but welcoming.

“I've come for justice,” he declared. “Everyone knows that you killed our mother for no reason, except ambition. Therefore, I demand justice.”

Ubbe stepped forward, placing a hand on Ivar's shoulder from behind, saying his name with a warning in his voice. Ivar angrily brushed his hand off, interrupting whatever he was going to say. “Don't touch me, coward.”

“He is not a coward.” Lagertha came to Ivar then, placing her hand on his shoulder and leaning forward, close to the dark-haired boy's face. Her voice became sickeningly tender. “But perhaps he understands some things that you don't.”

“How dare you,” Moira seethed. “How dare you touch him. How dare you try to assume a motherly role?!”  
“I understand everything perfectly.” The enraged glow of Ivar's eyes was particularly malevolent. If looks could kill, Lagertha would already be dead. “You murdered my mother in cold blood. I want revenge. I challenge you to single combat.” 

The longhouse began to hum with the murmuring of the assembled crowds. Lagertha simply responded coldly, “I refuse,” and turned to walk back up to the throne. Ivar was flabbergasted. “You can't refuse.”

Lagertha turned back around, spreading her arms wide. “I refuse to fight you, Ivar Ragnarson.” The murmuring resumed as Lagertha took her seat on her stolen throne.

“Why?” Ivar demanded. “Huh?”

Moira sneered. “She shot a woman in the back, Ivar. She has no honor. Of course she's refusing.”

“It's far simpler than that, Brenna. I don't want to kill one of Ragnar's sons.”

“Who says you would kill me?” Every word Ivar spoke dripped with danger and menace.

Lagertha's voice was just as dangerous when she responded, “I do.”

“All right.” Ivar's contemptuous sneer matched Moira's, and he lifted his knife and twisted it as he spoke, as if he was imagining plunging it into the blonde's eye socket. “Don't fight me, then. I don't care. Just as long as you know that one day, I will kill you, Lagertha. Your fate is fixed.”

“I want my children back,” Moira demanded. 

Lagertha raised one perfect eyebrow before responding, “They will live here, in the longhouse, as royalty. They will be well-treated, I promise you.”

“You're refusing to let a mother have her children?” The muttering in the longhouse intensified. “I want to see them!”

“Of course. I will arrange it.”

“She will not be alone when she visits them.” Ubbe stepped forward. “I won't give you a chance to take my sister hostage as you have my niece and nephew.”

Lagertha's smile was cutting. “If I wanted her as a hostage, she would be a hostage.”

............................................................................................................................................................

Moira was walking by herself along a forest road, gathering herbs. The herb gathering was really just an excuse to get away from the busyness in Kattegatt and seeing Lagertha in Aslaug's rightful place as Queen. Since the usurper required everyone to help out in her 'great work' somehow, Moira had jumped at the chance to gather herbs for the healers, and in so doing, spend a peaceful day among the trees.

A huge flock of ravens came from nowhere, circling in the sky above her, cawing and squawking loudly. Thunder rumbled, and for a moment, Fili could swear he heard Ragnar's voice speaking, although that was clearly impossible, because he was still in England, and probably dead. _**“How the little piggies will grunt, when they hear how the old boar suffered.”**_

Lightning cracked across the sky, and suddenly it turned impossibly dark, when just a moment ago, it had been as clear and mild as could be. Moira emerged from the forest to a remote part of the fjord. On the beach a one-eyed, bearded man was standing tall, as if waiting for her. The wind howled, whipping at the man's cloak, bringing the water into raging waves behind him. Even from this distance, his voice was discernible, deep and powerful. Fili realized with a shock that he wasn't moving his lips. Fili felt the man's voice in his soul, and from the unspeakably awed expression on Moira's face, so had she. _**"Ragnar is dead.”**_ The voice reverberated through the air. _**“Killed by serpents.”**_

The thunder rumbled again. The lightning crackled. Fili blinked. The man was gone, the sky clear and blue once more. Moira fell to her knees, gasping, overwhelmed with the immensity of what had occurred. She soon found out that each of her brothers had received a similar visitation. The one-eyed man by the fjord had been Odin. There was no other explanation.

...............................................................................................................................................................

Ubbe, Sigurd, Ivar and Moira had returned to the small fishing hut outside of Kattegatt that they had been banished to. There was an oppressive silence hanging over the four. Moira and Ubbe were sitting across from each other, both of their eyes aimed at their cups. Sigurd was standing in the open doorway, sharpening a stake.

“That is my knife.” Ivar finally broke the silence, looking over his shoulder at his brother. Sigurd ignored him. He cleared his throat and spoke again, louder this time, leaning towards where Sigurd stood. “That is my knife.”

“No, it is not.” Sigurd shut the door and came to the table.

“Give it to me,” Ivar demanded quietly but firmly, his hand extended.

“You're crazy. It's not your knife. _Father_ gave me this knife.”

“I want it.” Ivar hefted himself off his seat and onto the floor, crawling towards where Sigurd was whittling. “I will kill Lagertha with it. I will kill Lagertha with Father's knife!”

“Well, you can't have it.”

“That's enough,” Ubbe admonished from across the room, for all the good it did. Ivar pulled the stool out from under Sigurd, and soon they were rolling on the floor, hitting each other, fighting over the knife. Ubbe and Moira looked at each other over the table, rolling their eyes at their brothers' familiar conflict. At the same time they stood and went to break up the fight. It was clearly something they had had to do many times.

“Freyja's tits, you two!!” Moira cursed as she grabbed Ivar by the back of his tunic and pulled him, fists flailing, from his blond elder brother. At the same time Ubbe hauled Sigurd up and shoved him against a column, holding his face. 

“That's enough! Hey! We have important decisions to make.”

“As usual, you must tell us how to behave!” Sigurd snarled angrily.

“Who else would do it?” Ubbe sighed. “I wish Björn was here.” He sat as Sigurd crossed his arms and leaned back against the pillar.

“You think he knows about Father?” the blond asked.

“Oh, so, you think that Odin told us, but forgot to tell Björn?” Ivar asked sarcastically, tapping his forehead with the knife he had taken from Sigurd, clearly saying, _Think, brother_.

“Hopefully he'll be home soon, with Sven and Hvitserk. We need to have the family together for this,” Moira chimed in.

“Yes,” Ubbe sighed. “But we can't delay too long. In the meantime, it is up to **_us_** to decide what to do.”

Ivar exhaled a long breath. “I'm listening. Say something interesting.” Ivar tapped Ubbe's knee with the knife.

“You heard what he said, how the little pigs will grunt when they hear how the old boar suffered."

“So now we're grunting. So what?”

“We want blood-revenge against Aelle, hmm?”

Sigurd's answer was immediate. “Yes.”

“Not only against Aelle,” Ivar piped up. “I told you, King Ecbert offered our father up like a sacrifice, so I'll do the same thing to him. That is what Father wanted. That is the message that he wanted me to bring to you.”

Ubbe's voice was measured and calm when he responded to the impassioned, knife-gesturing speech. “That is so easy to say, Ivar.”

“There he is, the voice of reason,” Ivar sneered. “I _**hate**_ reason.” Ivar dropped to the floor and slithered towards the door.

“What do you mean, Ubbe?” Sigurd sat across from his eldest brother. “I'm listening, even if he's not.”

Ubbe sighed. “Aelle has a small kingdom but Ecbert's kingdom is vast. How do we overcome that when we have never attempted anything like that before?”

“We raise an army,” Sigurd answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. From his position by the door, with it half-open, Ivar paused, deciding to listen instead of leave.

Ubbe hung his head in frustration. “No, you're not listening, brother.”

“We raise a _great_ army. An army bigger than ever before.”

“Any Viking will answer our call to avenge Ragnar Lothbrok,” Moira added her voice to Sigurd's.

“They are right,” Ivar declared from the doorway. He closed it and began to crawl back towards his siblings, his eyes burning as he slithered across the floor like a snake. “We call in favors. We do deals with Kings and Earls that we hate. Whatever we have to promise them, we promise. And in the end, we assemble an army twice the size of the army our father took to Paris.”

Sigurd nodded. “And we declare war on England.”

“Not just Wessex and Northumbria.” Moira's voice was quiet as she picked at her fingernails. “We make all of England pay.”

“No.” The intensity in Ivar's voice was matched only by the flashing of his eyes, and the unnatural brightness of the blue almost made Fili believe that this family really was descended from Odin, as some of the Vikings believed. “In the name of our dead father, in the name of Ragnar Lothbrok, the greatest hero of our country, and in the name of Odin, we declare war on the whole world.”

 _If they really are descended from Odin, it would explain why a God showed up personally to inform them of Ragnar's death_ , Fili mused. _If that's really what happened_.

...............................................................................................................................................................

"Sigurd!" Moira raced after the pale blonde as he stalked from the smithy.

"Are you going to defend him again, Brenna?" Sigurd asked angrily as he spun around to face her.

"No, I –"

"Ivar just held an ax to _my neck!_ ” Sigurd interrupted her.

"I stopped him!"

"And you _still_ coddle him! He's _still_ your favorite!" He was raging now.

"I came to make sure _you're _okay, Sig!"__

____

__

"You care?" Sigurd muttered bitterly.

"Of course I care! I just ... Try to understand what it's like for him, Sigurd," Moira begged.

"Oh, yes, poor Ivar. Poor, crippled Ivar," Sigurd sneered. "Poor abused Ivar, hated by everyone, his older brother is soooo mean to him. Well, I still remember him burying an ax in that boy's head over a ballgame! He was only 6 years old, Brenna! There is something _wrong_ with Ivar! He's insane! You and Mother made it _worse_ by trying to protect him. All he has to do is flash his puppy-dog eyes at you and you'll let him get away with _anything_. Mother was even worse! She didn't even pay the weregild to that boy's family for his death!"

"Sigurd, I tried," Moira said sadly. "Did I fail so horribly?"

“No.” He softened now. “You were a good sister. You did your best. But then you got married and had your own children, and after Porunn disappeared, you took in Siggy while Björn was away....” Sigurd sighed, looking sad. “You just didn't have time. I understand.”

He turned and left. Moira didn't follow him this time. She hesitated, but instead she sighed and went back into the smithy, back to where Ivar was working.

.............................................................................................................................................................

Summons were sent, and over the next weeks and months ships began to arrive, bringing Vikings from far-flung parts of the Norse world to avenge the death of Ragnar Lothbrok, from all parts of Norway, Scandinavia, Denmark, Sweden. Kattegatt was soon full to bursting with its new visitors. The longhouse was crowded now, loud music playing as a feast was being held. Fili heard snippets of conversations as he passed unseen and unheard among them. The people here spoke with awe about Ragnar, and even those from far away who could not have possibly met him seemed to mourn personally. He had clearly meant a lot to his people. Many of the newcomers laughed at Ivar crawling on the floor, until they discovered who he was, often looking shamefaced after a pointed threat from Ubbe or Moira. At some point, Lagertha left her throne and made her way to where Ubbe and Moira were standing with Ubbe's betrothed, a recently-freed thrall. When Ubbe saw her approach, he kissed Margrethe and sent her to get another drink, getting her out of Lagertha's way.

“You had no right to free my slaves without my permission,” Kattegatt's usurper told him coldly.

“I don't remember you asking permission to kill my mother,” Ubbe bravely snarked, his upper lip twitching a little.

“That's different,” Lagertha insisted. “I am Queen now.”

“Margrethe belonged to Aslaug,” Moira declared. “We're Aslaug's children. We decide her fate, not you. And now, she's a free woman and is to be Ubbe's wife. It's too late for you to take that away.” Moira smiled a brittle grin at the small triumph over her mother's murderer. With that Moira and Ubbe began to walk calmly away.

“Ubbe!” Lagertha called him back, placing a surprisingly tender hand his arm. “I wanted to tell you. You look just like your father looked when he was a young man. When I first knew him.” Ubbe seemed surprised but guarded at the misplaced affection, but Moira didn't hold her acid tongue. “Get your hands off of him,” she hissed. “He's not the replacement for your dead husband.”

Lagertha simply smiled at Moira and walked away. She and Ubbe exchanged a look, first with each other, and then with Ivar from across the room. Their youngest brother gave them a signal of some kind with a few fingers of one hand. _Something's about to happen_ , Fili realized.

He perked up, and noticed men moving silently along the back of the room. The doors were shut and barred. Lagertha's lover and guard Astrid noticed something was amiss, but too late. There were shocked gasps as half the warriors in the Great Hall suddenly had daggers or axes against their throats, held by the other half. The music stopped. To Fili's surprise, someone was holding a knife to Sigurd's neck as well. He clearly had not been in on this plot. Perhaps Moira and her other brothers did not think they could fully trust him. He had been against avenging their mother from the start. The crowd parted, revealing Ivar pulling himself along the floor with two daggers, flanked on either side by Ubbe and Moira.

Lagertha stood silently from her stolen throne. There was clearly no avoiding this. She picked up a sword from beside her throne and descended the stairs regally, eyes hard. Lagertha was a legendary warrior, but she was in her 50s now, and it was three-on-one. Ubbe and Ivar were in their prime, and Moira had the benefit of not only long experience, but personal knowledge of Lagertha's fighting style. Surely they would win. For a long, tense moment, the three circled the warrior queen.

Suddenly, the doors of the Great Hall sprang open, and Björn entered, looking as large and fearsome as the bear he was named for in his many layers of furs. And he was flanked by dozens of his own men streaming into the longhouse. “If you kill her, my brothers, you'll have to kill me too.”

“Maybe we should,” Ivar blustered.

“Shut up,” Ubbe hissed angrily to Ivar, before declaring to Björn, “She killed our mother.”

“I know,” Björn nodded sadly, seriously. “You want revenge. So would I.” He stepped forward, past Ivar, eyes roaming quickly from one brother to the other, to Moira, as he spoke, “But more importantly, we have to avenge our father. That is why I came back. And that is what we are going to do.”

Lagertha threw her sword down in front of Ivar. Ubbe, who had previously had his ax poised to strike, suddenly lowered it. His face was still awash with conflicting emotions, but one thing was clear: He didn't want to kill his half-brother. The tables had turned, their advantage was gone. He was giving up. But Moira wasn't ready to surrender yet. She lunged forward then, grabbing Lagertha's hair and pressing a small dagger to her throat. “None of you were there! I was there! This woman shot our mother _**in the back!**_ How can you even _think_ of letting her live?!?!”

“Think about what you're doing, Brenna,” Lagertha warned.

“Shut up!” Moira spat.

“Do it!” Ivar hissed from the ground, eyes glued to the dagger, hungry for Lagertha's blood.

There was cold fury in Björn's eyes, but before he could move a muscle or say anything, Moira ground out her own warning. “One move from you, Björn, and I'll open her throat. You know I will, brother.”

“DO IT!” Ivar's voice was louder this time.

“Sister,” Ubbe said, always the calm one. Always the peacemaker between his siblings. He reached out for Moira's shoulder.

“Don't touch me, Ubbe!” Moira spat. “You were all for this not two minutes ago!”

“I was. When I thought we could win.” he reasoned. “I want you to live. I want your _children_ to live.”

Fili saw the hesitation flicker across Moira's face at the mention of her children. Fili knew what her decision would be. She released the warrior Queen's hair and pushed her roughly forward. But when Lagertha turned to face her, Moira did not ask forgiveness. “Make no mistake, Lagertha. You and I will never be friends. Me or Ivar, your destiny ends on one of our blades.” Then Moira swept majestically past her, ignoring Björn completely, Ubbe a few steps behind her. Fili heard a howl of rage from Ivar at their thwarted revenge before he pulled himself from the longhouse.

...............................................................................................................................................................

"I'm not saying that we shouldn't do it, but think about it. If we ..." Sigurd was interrupted by the door to the fishing hut opening and their brother entering.

"Hvitserk!" Ubbe got up and greeted his brother with a hug. “Welcome home, brother."

"I heard you freed Margrethe. You want to marry her? I'm glad." Hvitserk caressed the flaxen blonde's chin as she smiled up at him shyly. "Just don't keep her all to yourself."

Moira stood, frowning as she punched the taller man's arm. "She's a free woman now, Hvitserk, you can't treat her as if she's still a thrall."

Hvitserk's eyes sparkled. "I meant nothing by it, little sister."

"I'm thirty years older than you, you fucking brat!" Moira protested.

"Yes, and you're still _far_ littler than me." Hvitserk grinned good-naturedly, and Moira punched him again. He was prepared and deflected it in such a way that told Fili this was a long-standing joke with them.

"It's good to have you back, brother." Ubbe grinned as he watched the interaction.

"Is Sven with you?" Moira broke in eagerly.

"Yes, he's on his way, sister. He'll be here soon," Hvitserk reassured her.

"Have you heard about Mother?" Ubbe asked as Hvitserk sat down.

"Yes, but you and I, Ubbe, we jumped under the ice because of her, so I don't necessarily agree that we should kill Lagertha because of it."

"Ivar thinks we should."

"Ivar's crazy. You know that."

"He's passionate. Not crazy," Moira defended the absent Ivar instinctively. Fili saw a strange, fearful expression pass over Margrethe's face at the mention of Ivar, but Moira failed to notice it. In fact Margrethe was strangely silent most of the time. Then again, she had been a free woman for a total of three days and was probably still getting used to it. "You shouldn't talk about your brother like that."

Sigurd snorted.

"Maybe we should wait," Ubbe suggested.

"Until we avenge our father." Sigurd nodded. "Besides, someone has to rule Kattegatt while we are away."

"Besides,” Ubbe sighed, “If we kill Lagertha, we have to kill Björn, and I don't want to do that.”

"Nor I," Moira agreed. "But still, you weren't there. You didn't watch Mother die. I did."

There was a heavy silence for a moment, before Hvitserk broke it by grinning his light-hearted grin at his eldest brother. “Well, maybe you couldn't kill Björn anyway.”

"Do you want to test me, brother?" Ubbe smiled dangerously.

The door opened then, and Moira was on her feet before the figure of her husband came striding in. "Sven!"

"Wife!" He wrapped her in his strong arms, leaning down to draw her into a deep kiss. Hvitserk hooted and whistled from across the room.

When Sven pulled away, he kept his arms wrapped around Moira, who looked tiny in comparison to him. "Have you heard?" she whispered against his chest.

"Yes." His voice was gruff and worried. "Our children?"

"Alive. Lagertha is keeping them in the longhouse as hostages, but they are alive and well."

"We were just discussing what we should do," Ubbe called. "Come sit with us by the fire."

"I can't believe Ragnar's gone. He always seemed so invincible," Sven stated solemnly as he guided Moira to the fire with an arm looped around her waist.

"I know.” Sigurd handed Sven a horn of ale as he sat.

"What about my children?” Sven asked worriedly. “Will they be safe with Lagertha while we avenge Ragnar?”

“I do not believe she would harm a child,” Hvitserk volunteered.

"Yeah, well,” Moira snorted. “I didn't believe she would shoot a woman in the back. And that's exactly what she did.” She shook her head. “I can't believe I used to admire her. If she thinks she can use Thora and Eirik to win me over, she's so wrong. I'm going to kill her one day; it's just a matter of when.”

“I want to see our children,” Sven stated.

Ubbe sighed. “You'll have to arrange that with Astrid, if Lagertha is busy.” He avoided his brother-by-law's eyes. Fili shook his head as he settled on the other side of Moira. This situation was horrible. Sven was justifiably outraged. “I have to schedule seeing my own children?!?”

“We already tried to kill her, Sven,” Moira pointed out. “We could have succeeded if Björn hadn't come in when he did.”

“Well, if I had known, I might have insisted we stay in Hispania for one more day.”

“We'll take care of it,” Ubbe promised. “I swear on my arm ring, I'll make sure your children are returned to you both, one way or another.”

“But first, we are going to avenge our father,” Sigurd broke in.

“In the meantime,” Hvitserk smirked at the couple. “You haven't seen your wife in _**months**_ , Sven, and unlike most warriors I've known you refuse to take other lovers. Don't you want to be alone with my sister?”

“Hvitserk!” Moira admonished, but she didn't sound truly angry.

“No, Hvitserk is right.” Ubbe stood now. “You can have the hut for a few hours, sister, since Lagertha's taken your home, too. Come, brothers.”

Ubbe and Hvitserk both patted Sven on the back as they left, smirking a little, while Moira made what Fili assumed to be obscene hand gestures at them as they and Sigurd left.

...................................................................................................................................................................... 

Fili would never get used to this part. Everyone was gathered in the square, where a platform had been erected. Drums were beating. Fires were burning. Lagertha was arrayed in all her finery to preside over the ritual. The young Earl, whose name Fili had not gotten, had come so far to join the army planning to invade England. Instead, when it had been decided that the seriousness of this endeavor required a human sacrifice instead of that of an animal, he had volunteered. _Volunteered_. Moira had explained her beliefs on the quest, that all life came from blood. It made a kind of sense, and Fili could understand animal sacrifice. Some remote tribes in Middle-Earth even practiced it. It wasn't so strange, for a society that ate meat, to revere the life and sacrifice of the animal that gave its life to sustain others and for that act to be seen as sacred.

But to sacrifice a sentient, _thinking_ being seemed almost … Orcish. Fili tried to understand, because this world, this culture, had meant so much to Moira. But he just couldn't wrap his mind around it. At least, save the quick prayers uttered over executed prisoners, sacrifices were volunteers. They were willing Pagan men and women, who offered their lifeblood up on the altars of their Gods and believed that by so doing, they were earning their way into Valhalla. They _welcomed_ it. But it was just too foreign to him. Moira had seemed to struggle with it as well, at her first trip to Uppsala, where 9 creatures of every kind, including human, were offered in sacrifice every 9 years. But that time was long gone now. After 20 years, she no longer questioned it.

Another man walked the young Earl up to the platform. He seemed … calm. Serene. At peace. The Earl was handsome, but so young that he had no beard. His chin was smoother than Kili's, for Mahal's sake!

“Brother! I envy you! Tonight you will die and feast with the Gods. You will see Odin and Thor face to face.” 

The men clasped hands. “Thank you, my brother.”

His brother was walking him to his death. _His brother_. Fili felt sick. He tried to stand outside, to not judge, but found it impossible. He reminded himself again that this culture had meant everything to Moira. Moira had raised her children in this culture. Her children. He cast his eyes about now, looking for her. He found her and Sven standing right next to the platform, where she'd have an unobstructed view. On either side of her and her husband were Ubbe and Ivar, the former looking stoic and the latter excited. Moira's arms were draped over the shoulders of Thora and Eirik. She had brought _her children_ to the square to watch a man die, and considered it sacred. Fili didn't understand.

The young Earl climbed the steps up between the twin columns and grasped the rope handholds, raising his arms. The metal rattles were shaking out a matching beat to the drums. A priest in a linen robe with a painted face came forward and presented Lagertha with an ornate, curved sword, uttering a brief chant as he did so. Lagertha held the sword flat on her palms, and for a moment Fili was reminded of Aslaug before this woman cut her down. She looked to the sky, and the deafening drumbeat was interrupted as the crowd gasped in awe. He followed their gaze, and was shocked to see a streak of fire traveling slowly across the night sky. “A comet,” he heard Moira mutter under her breath. Was this 'comet' a sign that the Gods were pleased? The Vikings would surely interpret it so.

When Lagertha stood before him, she spoke in a clear voice, “So, Earl Jorgensen, are you ready to sacrifice your life to appease and honor the Gods?”

He leant closer to the Queen-acting-as-priestess as he responded, “I am not afraid.”

A smile quirked one side of the blonde Queen's lips. “The Gods are ready.” The same priest from before had moved behind Earl Jorgensen, and now he ripped the front of the sacrifice's simple, undyed linen tunic. Lagertha chanted something, a call repeated by the assembled worshipers. She placed the point of the sword on his chest. The drumbeat quickened. Earl Jorgensen stood stock still, looking calmly into Lagertha's cold blue eyes. He gasped a little as the sword entered him slowly. Fili couldn't take his eyes from the horrible scene, somehow transfixed by it. The young Earl, the willing sacrifice, dropped his hands from the ropes. He placed them on the new Queen's shoulders and shoved his body down the length of the blade, impaling himself on it, gasping. He dropped to his knees before her, and she pulled the sword from his body gently. She held his face as he died, hands stroking in an odd imitation of a lover's caress. She let go. His body hit the platform with a thud, his bright red blood spreading across it and into the grooves, where it filled a waiting bowl.

The drums beat. The fire crackled. Earl Jorgensen breathed his last. Viking worshipers came forward slowly, to anoint their faces in the red lifeblood of the young Earl. Moira dipped her fingers into the bowl and painted a stripe down the sides of each of her children's faces after she had done her own, a soft smile on her face. When she stood, Sven kissed her hungrily, his own face already dabbed in red.

Fili would never get used to this part.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Moira and the five Ragnarsons were on the wharf, preparing to finally set sail and make for England. They were passing the bowl of freshwater around for the ceremonial washing of their faces and hands as they discussed the campaign. Björn was the only one standing, and he was speaking as he swaggered around the others, asserting his dominance.

“Brothers, this is my decision. We refuse to share power with any of the other Kings and Earls, whoever they are, or however powerful they are. Least of all, my brothers, King Harald Finehair and his brother, for they are dedicated to our overthrow. Is that understood? “

Moira apparently thought that wasn't going far enough. “They're dangerous, we should have killed them long ago.”

“I know you hate them, Brenna, after their actions in Paris.” Björn smirked. “We are all equally Ragnar's sons – children,” he corrected himself when Moira shot him a look. “But we are not equal in battle. So I will take the lead. I will establish the battle plans, and _**I**_ will give the orders. Do you understand that?”  


Ivar had been making faces during the speech, rolling his jaw in his unique, arrogant way.

“You don't agree, Ivar?” Bjorn lowered his face to Ivar's level.

He didn't back down. “I didn't say anything.”

“You don't have to. Your age makes you believe you know more than you do. But what do you know? What have you done? What battles have you won and what battles have you lost? For it is in failure, my brothers, that is where we learn the most.”

“Really?” Ivar sneered.

“You don't want to listen, that is your choice. But I am the leader of this great army. Me!” He roared and thumped his chest on the last word. “And you will obey me. And if you do so, my brothers, revenge for our father ... will be ours.”

At the end of his speech, Ivar rolled his eyes, looking at Moira for approval. She smiled at him, and Björn noticed. While the others were boarding the ship, Björn grabbed Moira's arm, holding her back. “You encourage him and his attitude,” he growled.

“Do I?” she asked sweetly, before shaking off his grip. There was a temporary truce between the sons of Ragnar as they avenged their father, but Fili was certain that after the invasion of England was completed, it would not last.

....................................................................................................................................................................

King Aelle of Northumbria was laughably unprepared for the invasion. It was true that the Northmen preferred to fight and raid in small war-bands, and perhaps Aelle thought that killing Ragnar would break their spirit. But clearly, he did not understand the Viking spirit. Instead it galvanized them and brought them together. The fool not only doomed himself, but thousands of his own countrymen. Fili wondered what Aelle and the Saxons were thinking when what the English would come to call the Great Heathen Army crested the hill. The Vikings not only outnumbered Aelle's pathetically tiny army, but the Saxons were not the fierce, hardened warriors the Norsemen were. When the Vikings began to scream their deafening, collective battle-cry, did Aelle cry to his God for mercy? Or did he think that his Jesus Christ had abandoned them all to the Pagans?

Whatever Aelle and the Saxons were thinking, Fili had no need to wonder what Moira was feeling. He _knew_. Fili knew because he recognized the battle-song singing in her veins as she danced her bloody, violent dance alongside her brothers and her husband. He recognized it because that song thrummed through the blood of all Dwarves, as it apparently did through the Vikings. She had never been so beautiful. A deadly Goddess, a shieldmaiden anointed in blood, fighting for the honor of her family and home, her braids spinning around her like a dark halo as she lashed out with her weapons, cutting down her enemy with vicious elegance.

It was only a matter of time before the Saxon lines broke and Aelle himself fell. When he did, he was stripped of his armor and dragged behind Ivar's chariot. He was dragged for miles as they rode all the way to the field where Ragnar was murdered. An iron cage still hung from the highest branches of the trees, a grisly trophy.

“Show me where my father died,” Björn demanded in the Saxon tongue. The man was too frightened to say anything, just crying and whimpering. Björn backhanded him and bellowed. “SHOW US!”

Sigurd held an ax to the fat King's neck as the others pulled the cover from the pit. There were no snakes in the pit right now, of course; it was only an empty hole in the ground. But there was an unnameable sense of miasma emanating from the cavity. This was where the great Ragnar Lothbrok had died, alone and among enemies, denied the chance to go honorably in battle with a sword in his hand. It was unjust that he should have died like that.

“This is where our father was killed.” Ivar’s voice was thick with emotion, and his face contorted with an expression somewhere between sadness and rage. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain began to pour. The air was heavy with past ghosts, and the knowledge that a new one was about to be made here.

“How much gold and silver do you want to spare my life?” Aelle begged. “Name your price. Anything!”

“You are mistaken.” Ivar's bottom lip curled in disgust. His eyes burned as he turned to Aelle. “My father was worth more than gold or silver. That is not the price you must pay.”

Aelle's frightened eyes suddenly focused on Moira. “You. You, girl. They say you were Saxon once.”  


Her eyebrows shot up. “You think I'm like you?!” She was seething with anger, which in his fear Aelle didn't notice or care about.

“You spoke our tongue,” the dirty, rotund man begged her. “You aren't like them. Please, please, in the name of God, show mercy!”

“You _TORTURED_ my father before you murdered him!” Moira bellowed, her features twisting with rage. “You carved the sign of the cross into his forehead! Do you think I'd forgive that because you're whimpering like a stuck pig?!? We haven't even _touched_ you yet! And invoking the name of _**your**_ God with me? Not a smart move,” she sneered. “ _You_ didn't show mercy, why should I?”

Björn smirked, and his voice was colder than a Norwegian winter. He addressed Moira, but spoke in the Saxon tongue, so that Aelle could understand him. “For his insult to you, I think I'll give you the first cut, sister.”

“Thank you, Björn.” Moira learned close to the face of the weeping King. “We’ll see how Viking you think I am then, hmm, Aelle?”

This side of Moira was absolutely chilling to witness. She didn't just observe the blood eagling this time, but participated in carrying it out. She was still covered in King Aelle's blood when she found Sven and demanded that her husband take her up against a tree. Fili knew Aelle had tortured the man she called father before killing him, but he didn't quite know how to process this glimpse of the brutality that she was capable of. This wasn't the evil that was forced on her by Rahl; this was all Moira.

....................................................................................................................................................................

The Ragnarsons and Moira were gathered around a fire in a large army camp somewhere in Mercia.

“It seems to me that the Saxons are as timid as frightened women,” Ivar was crowing, rejoicing in their recent victories after the blood eagling of King Aelle. “Their hearts are faint. I don't think they can truly trouble us.”

“You don't know enough, Ivar,” Björn admonished him. “You haven't seen enough. These are brave men. I've fought against them, you haven't.”

“When they defeated us, Horik was making the battle plans, not Ragnar,” Moira pointed out. “Horik was a terrible leader.”

“I can only see what my eyes tell me,” Ivar retorted. “And what I see is frightened people running before us. I do not see how they could defeat _anyone_! I see their spineless God running away from our Gods.”

“For once, why don't you just listen to an older, wiser brother?” Ubbe poured more ale into Ivar's horn as he said that. “These people who are running away, they're not warriors. They are not the ones who will stay and fight to defend this kingdom.”

“And protect their honor.” Sigurd looked up from the deer he was skinning as he spoke. “For what is a warrior without his honor?”

Ivar chuckled. “I don't know. You tell me, brother. And, tell me again, how many battles have you fought?”

“Same as you, brother, except I don't ride around in a comfortable bloody chariot!” Sigurd accused.

“Odin, Ivar!” Moira protested at the same time that Sigurd had shot back.

“Brenna,” Ivar purred her name and gave her the same puppy-dog eyes he had used to get out of trouble with his mother. She rolled her eyes at him but didn't rebuke him further. Sigurd frowned deeper, and Fili saw that Sigurd's words during his argument with Moira back in Kattegatt were beyond a doubt true.

“What you have to learn, Ivar, is that if you break up this brotherhood, we shall not succeed,” Björn advised. “We have many challenges ahead of us. So, if you want to keep arguing and whining like a little girl, then I suggest you leave. We don't need you.”

“Oh, but you do need me.” Ivar rolled his jaw and glared intently at his half-brother, his dark cerulean eyes flashing. “Why do you think father chose me to come with him to England? He had a reason for doing so. He told me I was the one who would act for him, who would make sure he was revenged.”

Björn held the head of the dead deer in front of his face like a mask, and said in a high-pitched, mocking voice, “If that's what you want to think, then think it.” There was a round of laughter from the brothers, but Fili noticed that Moira was frowning.

Ivar did not seem dissuaded, or even angered. His eyes flashed, but somehow he seemed very self-assured. “I understand it must be hard for you to accept that the true heir to the great Ragnar Lothbrok should turn out to be a cripple and a reject.”

Floki, who was sitting a little ways away with his back to the group, let out a laugh and turned. “So this is what the grunting of the little pigs was all about.”

“Floki's right.” Moira was the one playing the peacemaker now. “Odin's beard, are we really going to fight among each other?”

Björn and Ivar fell silent after Floki and Moira's chiding, but they were still glaring at each other over the fire.

................................................................................................................................................................

It didn't take long for them to take Wessex's capital after sweeping through Northumbria and Mercia. Especially when Björn allowed Ivar to change their battle tactics. As the youngest Ragnarson had put it, the English would expect them to fight in a certain way. The Vikings were known for fighting in the shieldwall. Instead, Ivar stretched the battlefield across many miles, using the landscape. When the Viking army arrived in Ecbert's villa, they found it nearly empty, except for Ecbert himself and a high-ranking Christian bishop who stayed to die with him. He had sent his son Aethelwulf, daughter-in-law Judith, and their two sons away, along with all their people. Apparently his guilty conscience over the slaughter of Lagertha's farming settlement in Wessex and his personal betrayal of Ragnar, when he turned him over to King Aelle, made the English King believe that he had to stay to face the wrath of Ragnar's sons. Perhaps it was to atone. More realistically, it was because he knew they would never stop hunting him, and he was tired. Eventually they would find him, and it was better that he be alone than place his family and the future sovereign of Wessex in danger. At least that was Fili's guess at the logic behind the inscrutable King's actions. It was never easy to truly know the wily Ecbert's intentions.

So now they were in Ecbert's ruined throne-room. Sven had been wounded in the last battle and was being treated by a healer, so he was not present in the hall with the Ragnarsons and Moira. Ecbert was sitting in the same iron cage that, according to Ivar, Ragnar had been imprisoned in within these very same halls not so terribly long ago.

“We have to decide what to do with King Ecbert!” Björn proclaimed, shaking Ecbert's cage as it hung from the ceiling.

“I don't understand.” Ivar sounded as arrogant and confident as ever. “What is there to discuss? We blood eagle him. Ecbert is as guilty as Aelle so we should do the same thing to him. I've told you this so many times, brothers. I was here! I _saw_ Ecbert hand Father over to King Aelle.”

“We all understand those feelings, Ivar.” Björn stalked around the room, the only one standing during the discussion. He paced and yelled, just as his father had at moments like this. “No one is denying what you are saying. But sometimes... sometimes, we have to consider things beyond our feelings. And think what is best for our people!

“I know what our people want, Bjorn.” Ivar gestured with a dagger as he spoke, and he moved in such a way that reminded Fili of Moira. The Moira that Fili knew was much more controlled than her youngest brother, but Fili could see that she had picked up some of his mannerisms over time, and they had apparently endured over many lifetimes. “And they want what I want.”

“He's right.” The very woman Fili was thinking of spoke now from her position beside Ivar. The braids along her skull drew her hair back tightly and the dark war-paint streaked on her face made her look fierce and terrifying. “It's the Viking way, isn't it? Why do you think so many warriors joined us? How would we look if we backed out now?”

Björn paced as he continued to argue, “We have to consider our position of strength. And use that to our ultimate advantage!”

Ivar laughed. “You always like to complicate things, Bjorn. You think it makes you look clever.”

“And what if we kill Ecbert, Ivar?” Ubbe looked up. “Huh? What then?”

“Well, then he's dead, Ubbe!” Ivar said in the thickest sarcasm he could manage, which was saying something.

“We are in the middle of an enemy kingdom. How long will it be before the Saxon forces gather up another army and drive us away?” Björn punched the air, as if it was the Saxon force he spoke of.

“Exactly!” Ivar crowed, as if Björn had made his point for him. “So we blood eagle Ecbert and then we move on. We raid this entire land, so that they never have a chance to assemble another army again.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Why would we even want to stay here?”

“It is what our father wanted,” Ubbe put forward thoughtfully. “He didn't just want to win battles. He wanted _land_ here. He wanted to make settlements so our people could live and they could work.”

“Mmm.” Ivar rolled his eyes. “And we all know what happened.”

“Yes,” Hvitserk commented, gripping his sword as he spoke, “but in those days he did not hold a king to ransom, nor did he have a great army. We do.”

“What about you, Sigurd? What do you think?” Moira turned to the curly-headed blond, who was standing the farthest from the group, leaning against a pillar.

“Yes, you've been very quiet so far,” Ivar commented. “I'm sure you have an opinion.”

“I agree with you, Ivar,” Sigurd said quietly.

“Excuse me?” Ivar was clearly shocked.

“We should blood eagle him,” Sigurd clarified.

“Finally, thank you.” Ivar looked smug.

“But I'm not sure,” Sigurd said. “I'm not sure what they're saying.”

Björn shook his head violently in obvious frustration. “What I am saying is that we should do what our father always wanted.”

Ecbert suddenly rapped on his iron bars with his chains, drawing the attention of the arguing Vikings. “Yes?” Björn asked.

“I'd like to speak,” Ecbert spoke in the Norse language. “Well, I understand most of what you say, and I speak a _**little**_ of your language now.” He sighed dramatically. “I loved your father. He was my friend.”

“You have a strange way of showing your love,” Moira observed.

“I understand why you would say that, Brenna, but you weren't born a noble. You don't truly understand the burdens that come with ruling. I had no choice.” Moira scoffed, but Ecbert continued over her. “In any case, I know that, more than anything, Ragnar wanted to build a farming community here.”

“Yes, and _you_ killed all our settlers,” Ivar pointed out with a sneer.

“Yes. It's true. I did,” Ecbert conceded. “But...” he laughed, rattling his chains, “Now the tables have turned. We can make a new deal.”

“Why would we trust you?” Moira challenged. “You have always been a crafty, traitorous schemer. That was the _one_ thing Horik got right.”

“What are you proposing?” Björn asked as he walked to where Ecbert's cage hung from the ceiling.

“Well, as you say, it's only a matter of time before you are driven away from here. Without any legal right to English lands, you have no hope of staying. Well. I am king of kings.” That sly, cunning smile that Ecbert was known for came over his aged face. He seemed to be planning something. “And I can give you that legal right. I will give you legal claim to the kingdom of East Anglia. It's a large kingdom. Because I am king, no one can question that claim. And it seems that... you have enough men to enforce it until it holds. That's my offer. You should consider it.” The defeated King sat back with a groan.

"What do you want in return?” Ubbe was the one to ask the most pertinent question.

Ecbert smiled, closing his eyes. “I'll only tell you that once you agree to my proposal.”

..................................................................................................................................................................

All Ecbert asked for in exchange for the land of East Anglia was the right to choose the manner of his own death. He knew he would never be allowed to live, but Björn happily let him escape the brutal blood eagling that Aelle had suffered. Perhaps only to take something from Ivar, perhaps out of mercy. Fili didn't know. Moira didn't seem to care one way or the other. She had never trusted Ecbert, only being grateful that he had spared Athelstan's life when he had first accompanied Ragnar back to England's shores. But Ecbert had not personally tortured Ragnar to death. She only cared that he died. She didn't care how. The King of Wessex opened his own wrists in his beloved Roman bathhouse. And Ragnar was avenged.

.................................................................................................................................................................

In the middle of the square of Ecbert's castle in Wessex, a large wooden platform had been erected. A huge table laden with food was atop it, and around it were gathered the Ragnarsons, Moira and Sven. Sigurd was playing a jaunty tune as the Vikings celebrated, until Björn called them all to attention by sounding a horn. Sigurd put his instrument away and moved to a chair on the opposite end as Ivar just as Björn stood to address the great Viking army.

“Friends... No one will ever be able to doubt what we have achieved! An army of all our peoples, and we have defeated not one, but two English kingdoms!” A loud cheer went up. “For us, the sons of Ragnar, our first duty was to avenge our father's death. And that we have done. But also, we have achieved my father's dream. We have the legal right to the land, and to farm here!” The next cheer was even louder than the first. “It is up to all of you to use this opportunity to send over new settlers and young families! Unfortunately, I will not be here to see this new settlement grow and thrive. My fate will take me elsewhere. I always knew I had to return to explore the Mediterranean Sea. And now I feel free to follow my destiny. But, my brothers will be here for you. Skål!”

Moira lifted her cup, along with all of her brothers and the assembled crowd, echoing the loud cry of,“Skål!”

During Björn's speech about farming, Ivar had looked bored and openly contemptuous. Now he raised his own voice. “I will be here but not to settle down and plow! Who wants to be a farmer now? Hmm? We have a great army and we should use it. There are many other places that I want to attack and raid! And those of you who feel like I do, you should come with me. And those of you who don't, ask yourself, 'Who can stand in our way now?'” The raucous cheering was twice as loud as it had been for Björn.

“You cannot lead the army, Ivar.” Ubbe stated it as if it was an obvious fact. But why? Because he was the youngest? Or because he was a cripple?

“Hmm? I don't want to, Ubbe,” Ivar insisted. “All I'm saying is that, for those who are still brave enough to raid and find adventure, I will lead them. You can put on an apron and settle down if you want to."

“It will take a great man, Ivar,” Hvitserk commented, while shoveling chicken into his mouth. “To stake a claim here. Defend it.”

“Ah... That does not sound like yourself, dear brother. The Hvitserk I know, he loves to raid. He's a real Viking. What you just said, that is not the Viking way.”

“Why not?” Moira challenged her brother. “Our father was a farmer, Ivar. Plenty of our people are farmers.”

Ivar's lips twisted into a smirk. “Perhaps. But _**I**_ am not a farmer ... Who among you will follow me? Who will follow me into battle? For the love of fame and for the love of Odin, our All-Father?” That near-demonic fire was flashing in Ivar's brilliant blue eyes again, and a loud cheer went up from the crowd. “Odin!”

From the other end of the table, Sigurd disagreed. “Don't do this, Ivar. We are all the sons of Ragnar. We have to stick together.”

“Frankly, dear Sigurd, I don't care what you say. The truth is, I wouldn't even piss down your throat if your lungs were on fire.”

Ivar preened a little as the crowd laughed, and Moira rolled her eyes. But she froze when Sigurd went straight for the jugular. “Well, maybe that's because you're not really a man! Are you, Boneless?”

There was a moment of icy silence as everyone waited tensely for Ivar's response, before Björn cleared his throat and attempted to distract from the brotherly rivalry. “So, who is going to stay and farm?”

King Harald Finehair stood up from the crowd and spoke. “I would like to stay. But I have other plans. Skål.”

A cry of “Skål!” went up from the assembled warriors in response. His blond brother Halfdan spoke up next. “As for me... I want to go with Björn. I want to see the Mediterranean.”

Björn leapt over the table and hugged Halfdan. “Then it seems, the only thing that really kept the sons of Ragnar together was the death of their father.”

Ivar laughed. “Poor Björn! It is _you_ who doesn't want to keep the army together. It is _you_ who wants to go away to sunny places. Everyone else can follow me.”

Sigurd flew to his feet. “I do not want to follow you, Ivar. You are crazy. You have the mind of a child!”

“This fighting with each other is childish!” Moira snapped. Ubbe was watching Ivar with trepidation now.

“Stop this, you're brothers!” As Moira went, so did Sven. “Do you know what I'd give for my own brother to still be living?!”

But both Ivar and Sigurd were ignoring them. “All you do is play music, Sigurd!”

“I'm just as much a son of Ragnar as you are.”

“I'm not so sure. As far as I remember, Ragnar didn't play the oud. And he certainly didn't offer his arse to other men!”

“You make me laugh,” Sigurd snarled. “Just like you do when you crawl around like a baby.”

Ivar's face contorted in fury, and he slammed his fist down on the table. “Shut your mouth!”

“Enough!” Björn commanded, as if either of his younger brothers were going to listen to him. Neither of them had it in them to back down, not now, not in front of the entire army.

“This has nothing to do with you!” Ivar snapped.

“What's the matter, Ivar?” Sigurd taunted the youngest Ragnarson. “You can't take it?”

“Ivar, do not listen to him,” Ubbe pleaded.

“Sigurd, stop it!!” Moira raised her voice now, finally getting to her feet, glaring at the blond.

“Oh, that's right, Brenna, defend him,” Sigurd sneered. “Like you always do, like Mother always did. You know he doesn't think of you like a sister, right? You know he wants to fuck you?”

Ubbe saw what was going to happen before anyone else did. “Ivar... Ivar!”

But it was too late. Suddenly there was an ax in Sigurd's chest, and Ivar's arm was outstretched. The shock on his face showed plainly that he hadn't meant to do it; it was a childish impulse that had only taken a split second to cut the Sons of Ragnar from five to four.

An eerie hush settled over the crowd as Sigurd staggered backwards for a moment. He pulled the ax from his own chest, and started to stumble forward towards Ivar. He only made it halfway up the long table before he collapsed face-first on the wooden platform, dead. Moira was frozen, eyes impossibly wide. Ubbe and Hvitserk both ran to him. “No,” Ubbe was gasping. “No! No!”

They both looked up at Ivar in shock and horror, and at that moment, he looked like nothing more than a frightened little boy who had just broken his favorite toy.

“Ivar, what have you done?” Moira's voice was a horrified whisper.

....................................................................................................................................................................

The following conversation was better had in private. Björn was pacing the tent, eternally filled with restless energy, but for once was silent. The air was heavy as the remaining Ragnarsons grappled with what had just happened as Ivar attempted to explain himself.

“I know what you are all thinking, but it is not true. I didn't mean to kill him. He _made_ me kill him. He taunted me, he made fun of me. What was I supposed to do? And what kind of man turns and tells lies about his own brother?”

“And what lies did he tell?” Hvitserk asked.

“He said you weren't a real man,” Ubbe said softly from the back of the tent.

“And what would you have done if he said that to you, Ubbe?” 

Ubbe took another sip of his ale to avoid answering, but Ivar wasn't finished. “What would you do if you were a real man? The vile things he said about me, the vile things about our sister … _OUR_ sister …. I was defending her honor.”

“I can defend my own honor, Ivar.” Moira looked up and met his eyes for the first time, and then quickly looked away.

“I know.” Ivar sighed heavily. He looked truly contrite. “I swear to the Gods and everything that is sacred that I never meant to kill him. Anger overcame me, and I was not thinking. I am truly sorry.”

There was a long silence in the tent, oppressive in its weight. The only sound for a long while was the shuffle of Björn's boots across the dirt as he continued to pace, before Moira finally spoke. “Sigurd never knew when to stop, not where Ivar was concerned. He was killed by his own relentless tongue. I think we all knew that one of them would kill the other, one day. Why else were we always trying so hard to come between them?”

Fili saw a glimmer of hope suddenly flare in Ivar's blue orbs. “Thank you, sister.”

But Moira couldn't bring herself to look at him. One by one, the others left. It appeared that Ivar's fate was yet to be decided.

“Sister, thank you for defending me to them,” he said when they were finally alone.

“I'm not happy with you right now, Ivar,” Moira responded coldly, refusing to look at her youngest brother.

“I know.” Ivar's voice held none of its usual cockiness.

“Do you?” she asked bitterly. “You're a kinslayer now, little brother. How can I trust you?” She turned to him now. “What happens when _**I**_ say something you don't like, hmm? Am I going to end up with an ax in my chest, just like Sigurd?” she inquired sadly.

“No! Never! You are the only person other than Mother that I have ever loved.”

“You have to master your anger, Ivar, you have to control it, use it properly. Or it will control you, as it did today.”

“I know, I know. I have done many things I regret, none more so than today. But it was unavoidable.” She scoffed, but he continued, “And I want you by my side when we bring the rest of this country to its knees.”

“I DON'T WAIT TO RAID ENGLAND!” She bellowed now, losing control, causing an expression of shock to pass across Ivar's face before he covered it. “I came here to avenge our father on King Aelle, I came for _you_ and our other brothers!! Now I'm done! I want to _go home_ , Ivar! Lagertha has my CHILDREN, _your_ niece and nephew, or have you forgotten that?!!”

“Of course not!”

“I want revenge for our mother! I want our _home_ back! Most of all, I want my children safe! Björn can sail off to the Mediterranean and this entire Christian country can go fuck itself! I don't care!!”

Ivar looked thoughtful. “We can't take Kattegatt back alone. We'll need allies.”

“I've been thinking about that already. I think you need to talk to Harald Finehair. I can't do it, he knows how much I hate him. And we'd be fools to trust him; he's committed to becoming king of all Norway, and our eventual overthrow.”

“But we can deal with him afterwards.” The deadly gleam was back in Ivar's stormy blue eyes and a wicked grin spread on his face as he considered the plan. “After we kill Lagertha and _I'm_ King of Kattegatt.”

“I still haven't forgiven you yet.” Moira glowered at him.

“I know.” His voice was solemn. “But you will.”

“Oh, will I?”

“Yes.” The confidence was back.

.................................................................................................................................................................

When the scene changed again, Fili was standing in an open field. On either side of the hilly field was an army. A Viking army. It was happening then. A civil war. In the center, Ubbe and Lagertha stood on one side, facing Moira, Hvitserk and Ivar, the latter in his chariot. This was clearly a last-ditch effort to bring the opposing sides to peace, to avoid a civil war. A war not only among the Viking people, but between the sons of Ragnar. Fili knew instantly it wasn't going to work. He wondered where Björn was. Ivar and Moira would have been smart to time this war while he was in the Mediterranean, so Fili assumed that was what had happened.

“I can _**never**_ forgive Lagertha for killing our mother. Of course I'm going to kill her!!” Ivar spat hatefully.

“You can try.” Lagertha smirked from a few steps behind Ubbe.

“Brenna,” Ubbe turned to her, pleading. “I sent your children to you. Please, it is not too late to stop this.”

“I thank you for that, brother,” she responded calmly. “But if it were up to her, they would still be hostages. I'm rather surprised she didn't kill you for defying her. _Of course_ it's too late. But I promise you that when we win, we will treat your wife better than Lagertha did Thora and Eirik.”

“Speak for yourself, sister,” Ivar drawled. “I make no such promises.”

Moira shot him a warning look, but it was too late. Ivar's threat to Margrethe had Ubbe resolved. “So be it.”  


Moira looked stricken. “I don't want to kill you, Ubbe.”

Ivar was gleeful, Lagertha determined. Ubbe and Moira had each picked their sides and would now have to live, and perhaps die, with the consequences today.

“Only Odin knows how this day will end now,” Ubbe answered his adopted sister grimly.

................................................................................................................................................................

The battle was raging everywhere around him, and the warrior in Fili found it hard not to respond and leap into the fray himself. The sound of swords clanging was deafening, the grass was slick with Viking blood as kin tore at kin, the sharp scent filling his nose. Fili looked for Moira in the chaos surrounding him, but he couldn't see her. In the distance he saw Ivar's chariot plowing down enemy warriors, and wondered if Moira was by his side. But no, he was in her memory. She had to be nearby. He searched. He saw her finally, shorter than most of the rest, fighting near the fringe of the crush of warriors, near a strand of trees that led into a forest. His heart skipped a beat. She was fighting one-on-one with Ubbe.

They both looked feral. They were both wounded. Ubbe was favoring one leg, Moira was bleeding from a gash on her forehead and her nose looked broken, dripping more blood over her mouth and chin. Neither of them was holding back in the slightest. They were both clearly skilled fighters. It was furious, fast, and hard. It went on for some time. He pressed forward, the sword lashing down. She parried, ducked, attempted to strike from behind. He spun. She launched forward, not giving him any time to recover. He struck her across the face with the back of his hand.

Suddenly Moira was on her back. Ubbe had a sword pressed to her throat, his foot on her chest.

“Brother, please,” she gasped out.

He hesitated.

She took the advantage. She grasped his ankle, having seen clearly that his leg was already injured. She twisted. He toppled. The sharp sword-point nicked her throat, but they were soon tumbling on the ground, each getting even filthier rolling in dirt, muck, blood and spilled entrails as they fought for dominance. It ended with Moira straddling Ubbe and a dagger pressed hard against his jugular.

“Do it.” He glared up at her, teeth clenched.

Fili could see the war in Moira's eyes, the sorrow, the regret. _How had it come to this?_

“No.” She pulled her weapon back from her brother's throat, got to her feet. “Get out of here.”

He scrambled away, out of her reach. His eyes were still wild, still struggling to control the wolf within awakened by battle.

“My wife –”

“Will not be harmed. I'll control Ivar.”

“I don't know if you can promise that,” Ubbe muttered bitterly, and then he took a deep breath. “Brenna ... Margrethe is with child.”

“Freyr and all the Gods!” She exclaimed. “Go. Get out of here. I swear on Odin's beard, on Mother's grave, I'll protect your wife and child.”

Ubbe hesitated. “Please,” Moira pleaded with him. “I can protect your wife, but I may not be able to stop Ivar from killing you. Please, Ubbe, don't make me lose another brother today.”

Ubbe nodded and disappeared into the treeline.

Moira turned, putting her dagger on a sheath at her belt. She retrieved her fallen sword and another warrior's ax, going to rejoin the battle. That was when Fili saw the dark-haired little girl half-hidden in the shadows of the trees, watching the battle with tearful eyes. He had a theory to test. He smiled warmly at Child-Moira, diverting her attention from the bloody battle raging everywhere around them. She shyly smiled back.

He dropped to a knee again. “You know you're not supposed to be here, right?”

She hesitated, nodded.

“Do you know where the other you is, the grown-up one?”

She nodded again.

“Will you tell me?”

She vigorously shook her head from side-to-side.

“Why not?”

When she finally spoke, it was in a terrified whisper. “I don't want you to die.”

“Oh, don't worry. I won't.” He smiled his most confident, cavalier smile at the child, hoping it would reassure her. She seemed unconvinced. Then he remembered something Moira had mentioned when he had confronted her in Bag End, a cultural reference he hadn't understood. _I'm not Snow White and you're not Prince Charming. There's no happy ending here._ He gathered from the names that it was a child's tale. Since this was the child version of Moira, perhaps ...

“I'm Prince Charming.” He felt unbearably stupid saying it. Thank Mahal, Kili was not here to tease him about it. His brother would _never_ let that go. But it worked. The little girl's eyes widened in shock, and her wide smile lit up her little face.

“You mean you can break the spell?!”

“Yes,” he responded with as much confidence as he could muster. He took her hands in his. Moira's hands were always smaller than his, but this child's hands were positively tiny. So breakable.

“I swear it on my beard,” he intoned solemnly.

The girl giggled at that and reached up to tug on the longer hairs on his chin. Fili grinned, feeling a rush of affection and tenderness that warmed him to his soul. He couldn't help but wonder, that if he and Moira would be so blessed as to have a daughter, if she would look like this girl before him. Suddenly the merriment was gone from the girl's eyes.

“She's in the dark place.” She looked behind him, over his shoulder, and pointed.

Fili turned. And shivered.

There was another door that had mysteriously materialized on the bloody battlefield. This door was much taller than him, even taller than a normal door would be for one of Manfolk. The door itself was wooden, but surrounded by piled stone, like one might find in a castle of some sort. It looked strong and sturdy. Fili could feel the evil coming from it, a black aura of despair creeping forward and clutching at his heart. Somehow he knew this place led to Moira's darkest memories, the parts she worked hard to keep buried.

He released the girl's hands, stood, and walked up to the door. It felt even more malevolent up close. He turned and flashed Child-Moira his widest, most self-assured grin.

“Don't worry. I'll bring her back.”

It was as much a promise to himself as to her.

Fili took a deep breath and, grasping the metal ring on the door, pulled it open. When he walked into the blackness beyond, the door slammed shut, the sound echoing down the dark hall and sending a chill through Fili's soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Story Notes:** In Vikings Season 2, there is a four year time jump between Episode 1 and Episode 2, enough time that Aslaug goes from being (at least 6 months) pregnant with her first son with Ragnar, to having two children (Ubbe, and Hvitserk) and being pregnant with Sigurd. I'm placing Moira's arrival in Aslaug's second winter at Kattegatt, so that Ubbe is almost two years old and Hvitserk is a baby when she shows up.  
>  Her husband is actually an original character, in case you didn't realize. I could have fleshed him out more but I was really focused more on her family relationships and this chapter got REALLY fucking long. And as much as she loved Sven and her children, it was her adopted family that had the most effect on her in this life. Also I leave it up to you whether Ivar really had more than brotherly feelings for Brenna/Moira. Sigurd was always a bit of a bully to Ivar (although it kind of was a mutually abusive relationship) so I wouldn't _necessarily_ put too much stock in his theories.
> 
>  **On the Historical Accuracy of Vikings:** for those of you who don't know, the History channel show Vikings is based on both history and the Norse sagas. If you are wondering, Ragnar's sons were certainly real people. English sources write about Björn Ironside and Ivar the Boneless in particular, and the Great Heathen Army did indeed sweep across England in 865 AD. The Vikings actually controlled a good part of England for several decades, and English writing from the time will sometimes refer to the Viking-controlled areas as a separate country with the name Danelaw. Netflix's show the Last Kingdom takes place during this time. Athelwulf's son Alfred the Great is King of Wessex at that time, Ecbert's grandson. 
> 
> Ragnar himself is more nebulous and harder to suss out. Norse culture was transmitted orally, and by the time that Ragnar's story was written down, Norway was mostly Christianized. Historians believe that the Ragnar Lothbrok who has come down to us is most likely the combination of two or three great Viking leaders.
> 
> The two sieges of Paris depicted in the show actually happened, but were 40 years apart, not 1 year like on the show. However I get to sidestep that in my story by saying that Moira was in a parallel universe whose history mirrors our own, but is not exactly the same, haha! Obviously the second siege wasn't lead by Ragnar, as he would have been too old. It was his son Björn who lead the second siege in history/the sagas.  
> In history, Rollo, the Viking who marries a Frankish princess, was also NOT Ragnar's brother, but was made Ragnar's brother in the show for drama reasons. Those are the most important historical differences. ANYWAY! I'll shut up because I'm sure no one cares as much as me!!
> 
>  **IF you are interested** in Norse languages, sagas, and history, I suggest you look up Jackson Crawford on Youtube. He's an awesome college professor who was actually recommended to me by one of my readers, and his information has been very helpful. And it doesn't hurt that he's very handsome and has a voice like smooth velvet, lol!


	33. Fragmented Mind, Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, all love and joy in the world should go to my fantastic beta, **Rogue of the North** , from FFN. She is hella amazing and she has really helped polish my writing and smooth some of the rough edges, as well as put up with my INSANE ideas in the first fucking place (not to mention the insane Gods-damned wordcount). She's writing her own Fili/OC that is pretty damn good and you should go check it out (again, on FFN, not A03.)
> 
> Thank you so much to every one who has commented. It really gives me enough energy to keep working on this insane story. I really do love with all my reviewers so much and every word I get is amazing. Don't be shy. Of course I love in-depth analysis of each chapter, but even "Sweet story bro" lets me know that people out there are appreciating my work, and that's encouraging. Cuz it is a nutty amount of work.
> 
> I moved across three states at the end of November, so I'm sorry that this has taken so long. The chapter was already more than half-done, but it was still difficult to find any time to write in the middle of such a big life change. "The Plan" for RL stuff changed several times in the middle as well. In addition, some of this was written on my phone while I was stuck in the car, or after my laptop cord decided to shit out on me. That was a …. new and novel experience. Not something I've ever done. I lost some work too, before I downloaded GoogleDocs. So, yeah. It's been … interesting. What's that old Chinese curse? "May you live in interesting times?" Yeah. _Interesting._ That's the right word. //Sarcasm
> 
> Okay, first of all, I REALLY thought that this would be the last mind trip chapter. I really, really did. But, the wordcount was getting ridiculous, even after the last two, and there is some stuff that I HAVE to cover for future important plotty reasons (OMG I SWEAR THIS STORY IS GOING TO TAKE ME YEARS TO FINISH), so I had to split them up. I'M SORRY! Good news is the next one WILL be the last mindtrip chapter because the end of it is written. Yeah. The mindtrip chapters are basically novels in and of themselves. I know. Sorry. So sorry.
> 
> Also. ALL THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. This is where Fili sees her darkest memories, the stuff that Moira tries to keep buried in her day to day life, and we've already talked about what's happened to her. Torture. Rape. Physical and sexual abuse. Death. Some of worst/darkest scenes are actually post-torture mind-fuckery, though, less than graphic physical stuff. Some seriously dark themes ahead, kiddies. I did make an effort to not make it too graphic, since I hate the idea of fetishizing rape and seriously dark subjects like torture, but I wanted it to be clear what she's been through. Also, like I said before, Legend of the Seeker lets Rahl get away with too much, and he is a seriously dark character, even worse in the books, and one of my goals with this fic was to portray him as the unrepentant monster that he is.
> 
> Okay then. You have been duly warned. ONWARD.

[](https://imgur.com/qCRVLXR)

It took a few moments for Fili's eyes to adjust to the gloom. From the outside, Fili had thought that the door had belonged to a castle. Even though that descriptor might be technically correct, once he stepped inside the word 'tomb' felt more appropriate. The walls were built of a piled slate stone, the mortar between them crumbled with age. Most of the sconces were empty. Only a few held torches, and they were burning low as if fighting the very air itself, which smelled stale. If this had been a physical place in the outside world, Fili would say that it had not been disturbed in decades. Knowing it was a mental construct inside of Moira's mind, he had no idea what to expect from this … place.

His keen hearing detected the sounds of creatures skittering in the darkness, and soft _clinks_ of … what _was_ that sound? … After a moment it came to him. Chains. It sounded like someone or something was trying to move stealthily while being chained. A shiver went down Fili's spine. He tried to tell himself that it was due to the chilliness of the temperature. He didn't entirely convince himself.

Well, now that he was here, he needed to pick a direction. He had half-expected something to happen as soon as he had stepped from through the door, taking him away from the memory of the battle for Kattegatt. He turned, intending to do nothing more than gain a full view of his surroundings. To his surprise, the door that had just slammed shut behind him was gone. Now he found himself standing in an intersection where four crooked passageways converged, snaking away through the dungeons like broken, clogged arteries. The ruined walls intersected at odd angles, the crumbling mortar more degraded. This particular corridor even had less torches burning the passageway he had previously been looking out into.

"Well, that complicates matters somewhat," Fili muttered to himself, trying not to feel anxious. He was getting closer to finding Moira, he _knew_ it. The child version of his One that he had had just spoken to had said that she was in the "dark place". He hadn't expected for the darkness of that place to be so …. literal. Fili took a deep breath and walked down the darkened hallway, looking for either some sign of Moira, or another door he could open that might lead him somewhere else.

Fili walked for some time. The shuffling sounds continued to come from the shadows, sometimes quieter, sometimes louder. When he finally came to a door, Fili's breath was short and his chest tight with anticipation and fear. He took a moment to observe the door. It was wooden, worn, and marked in a sharp, looping language that he didn't recognize. Fili took a deep breath and grasped the door handle.

When it swung open, his senses were assaulted by the smell of sick and the sound of wet, rattling coughing and moans of pain from a variety of sources. He stayed in the dark hallway, clutching the door. He had no idea how this worked, after all, and didn't wish to fall into the memories of another lifetime and possibly get stuck again. Instead he watched the scene unfolding in front of him from outside of it. The room was crowded with beds and cots, all occupied with sick human figures, so many that some had to lay on the ground on blankets as the cots had been completely filled. Most disturbingly, nearly all of the sick figures were bleeding profusely from their eyes, noses, and ears.

The people bustling around nursing the sick were clearly a different species, although Fili had never seen their kind before. They were tall and elegant, graceful, vaguely Elven, yet not. Their skin and hair were chalk-white - not a pale flesh color, but a ghostly white. The color of their eyes varied from pale lavender, pink, silver and blue to striking orange, yellow, and gold. Whatever sickness was striking this town, this ghostly-skinned race must be immune, because they were the only ones who touched the bleeding humans, and they seemed to have no fear of it.

"Stahma," Fili finally noticed Moira as she gasped, struggling to sit up from her cot as one of the white-clad pale figures passed. "Have to ...ask you ..."

The tall, elegant woman stopped by the bed where the sickly, sweat-covered Moira had collapsed back into the cot. The efforts of getting the other woman's attention had caused more blood to leak from Moira's eyes and nose.

"Easy, Hayley." Stahma cooed. "You must rest."

"I'm not stupid," she protested. "We both know ... Nolan is gonna need to pick a new deputy."

"The Lawkeeper and Ambassador Lang are going after the cure." Stahma murmured reassuringly as she cleaned the blood from the human woman's face with a damp washcloth. "You must keep your strength up until they return."

"Need to ask ... My daughter ... She'll need someone to look after her when ..." Moira's sentence was cut off by a violent coughing fit.

"I'm surprised you wouldn't ask Nolan." Stahma said. "You've known him for years."

"IF Nolan and Conner manage to get past the E-Rep, IF they don't kill each other -" another coughing fit, during which Stahma waited patiently for Moira to be able to continue.

"Nolan kinda has his hands full with Irisa. It's ... not fair to ask him to raise two alien daughters. Especially from two different cultures." Moira swallowed. "Besides, in case this new sheriff gig of his doesn't work out, I want Avila to have a stable home. I don't want her ...raised as ... ark hunter in the Badlands."

Moira reached out and gripped the ghostly pale woman's hand tightly. "Avila is never gonna be completely accepted by humans OR Castithans. I want her to be strong. I want her to understand her heritage, but not be a slave to it. Like you're not."

Stahma's pale lavender eyes sparked dangerously, and she lowered her head in false humility. "You shame me. I assure you - "

"Don't." Moira interrupted her. "I don't have time for the game. I'm dying, remember? Datak is just the muscle. You run the show. It's just your shitty traditions that kept you from showing how smart you really are. You and I ... we both know how Casti men can be."

"Your husband," Stahma's voice was soft. "He didn't die fighting the Volge."

Moira shook her head from side to side, then groaned as the motion obviously caused pain to bloom in her skull.

"If I'm going to take your daughter in, I need to know the truth." Stahma's voice was gentle but her eyes calculating.

"I forgave him the first time he hit me. He seemed so upset, so apologetic, and I figured he was fighting thousands of years of cultural conditioning."

"Did you kill him?" the spark in Stahma's pale eyes told Fili that she would have been pleased if the answer was yes.

Moira sighed. "I should have. But I didn't want to murder the father of my child. I didn't want to look at her everyday and know I had her father's blood on my hands. So when it got bad, I ran. She doesn't know."

"He may come looking for you. And her. By our laws - "

"I know. But he's Yuke liro. He's just a worker, too poor to search for me, most likely."

Moira's voice was solemn, as much as it could be when she was so hoarse. "And anyway, if you were completely traditional, you wouldn't be letting your son marry a human girl." More coughing. "Even if you hope to control her father's mines one day –"

Fili saw Stahma quickly glance around the room, worried that someone would overhear. Clearly Moira was correct in her assumptions about Stahma's ambitions. Something told Fili that Stahma would not have allowed herself the slip-up if she didn't think that Moira – or Hayley, to her – was dying. When Moira had recovered enough to catch her breath again, she continued. "That was partly for Datak's benefit. You want Alak to be _**happy**_. Please, teach Avila to do what you do, make her strong, teach her how to get what she wants, how to survive Casti culture with her soul intact."

During Moira's impassioned speech, Stahma had begun to coo gently, stroking her fingers as she did so. Now the taller woman nodded. "I will. I swear by Ráyetso, –"

"No, not by Ráyetso." Moira interrupted her. "Not by the Casti scrolls. We're breaking those rules."

The pale woman looked puzzled. "What would you have me say, then?"

"Swear by Alak." Moira's voice was getting weaker now, and it was struggle to get each word out between the coughing. "Swear ….on …. your son's …. life."

Stahma nodded. "I swear on Alak's life, on my only child's life, that I will raise your daughter. I will protect her, teach her, treat her as if she came from my own flesh." She smiled, but somehow the smile seemed more cold than warm. "I may soon have a half-human grandchild, after all."  
"Thank you …. Favi."

Fili closed the door gently and rested his forehead against it, squeezing his eyes shut. With the door closed, there was no sound from the other side. Shut, it was as if the memory was filed away and the world behind the door did not exist anymore. Moira had borne a child with a male of another race. He _should_ find this encouraging. But the conversation that he had overheard explained the fears she had described about how Dwarves might treat a half-human child in the letter she had left when she disappeared. She had clearly made a poor choice for her mate in that world. No decent Dwarf would strike their One. Fili took a shaky breath and forced himself to move on. He couldn't get stuck here. He had to keep moving, keep searching.

............................................................................................................................................................................

When Fili opened the next door, he was surprised to see that she was still in the same world as before. She must not have died of the bloody sickness in the last scene. The town beyond the door was dirty and run-down, and appeared to have been cobbled together from whatever spare parts its citizens could find.

The people milling about the marketplace were mostly human and Castithans, but Fili saw other races mixed in as well. There were small, nearly hobbit-sized creatures with wiry whiskers and nearly bird-like features; a few large creatures that resembled the drawings of apes that Fili had seen in the great library at Erebor, who supposedly lived in the distant jungles of the east in Arda; and skinny, bald people who looked to be somewhat lizard-like. But they were not frightening; their white and gray scales caught the light of the sun above, iridescent and shimmering, and they had a strange beauty and grace of their own. There were a few redhaired aliens, who from behind might have been mistaken for human, but when they turned it was clear they had a heavier brow than Men, with white patterns in their mostly brick red skin, and eyes that nearly glowed yellow and green. There was even one _**gigantic**_ muscle-bound man who towered over the other species, his skin shining a deep, bright blue. But far and away, this town appeared to be mostly made of a nearly equal mix of human and Casti.

There was a young girl who was following Moira through the market, her pale hand clutched tightly in Moira's. She had Moira's dark hair, but her skin was Casti chalk-white and her eyes a brilliant golden-yellow. A feature inherited from her father, no doubt. Despite her strangeness, Fili found the child to be beautiful – of course she was, she was _Moira's_ daughter.

"There goes that haint-lover and her half-breed brat," a sneering voice came from nearby.

Moira's steps faltered and her shoulders stiffened as the owner of the voice stepped out of a nearby alley. He was dressed in some kind of dark blue military garb, and followed by several other similarly dressed soldiers. The child looked up at Moira, questioning in her strange eyes. Fili recognized the unmistakable expression of fear on her pale face. "Ignore them, _hanilo_ ," Moira whispered.

Gripping her daughter's hand, she attempted to skirt around the large man who had moved from the alleyway to block her path, but he moved to intercept her. "You're just a dirty haint lover, with a dirty haint kid."

" _Civilized_ people don't use that word," Moira hissed. The girl hid behind Moira's legs, looking up at the soldiers in terror.

"What, 'haint'?" The soldier laughed. "Does that bother you?"

"What made you choose those things over your own people?" Another soldier – a female one, Fili noticed – asked as she came up behind Moira.

"Your behavior here is a fine example!" Moira snapped.

"Ooooooo." Laughter and leers went around the group of soldiers. "Maybe we should teach her a lesson," another suggested as he stepped threateningly close to her.

"THAT'S QUITE ENOUGH!" An angry, but assertive, male voice broke in. The half-dozen soldiers immediately snapped to attention. A similarly uniformed man with immaculately groomed and brushed brown hair stormed in, getting between Moira and her daughter and the soldier she was glaring down. Unlike the other soldiers, he had some kind of metal breastplate buckled over his dress blues. There was something almost _too_ clean and sterile about this rescuer, considering the rest of the ragged frontier town, and Fili was instinctively suspicious about him, although he wasn't sure what exactly it was that put him off. He was just … creepy, somehow. The commander managed to lower his voice to a calmer, quieter tone, but sounded no less dangerous for it. His teeth were gritted as he spoke, getting right in the face of his subordinate. "You are the representatives of the Earth Republic in this town! _**We**_ do not accost women and children in the street!"

Mumbles of "Sorry, sir," and "Yes, sir," came from the suddenly contrite soldiers.

"Get out of my sight," he growled. "I'll deal with you later."

They practically tripped over themselves to leave, and none of them met Moira's eyes or offered an apology as they filed past her. After they had gone, Moira made to leave as well, but the officer called out, "Miss Mercer, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?" His voice was quiet, if not overly friendly, but carried the unmistakable edge of command.

Moira bent, whispering to the child, "Run along to school, _hanilo_."

"Mama?"

"It's okay," Moira smiled at her daughter reassuringly. "I'll be fine."

The child nodded and then dashed away, darting through the crowded town's marketplace with surprising grace for one of her young age, and Fili wondered if that was typical of her father's race.

The too-clean commander smiled at Moira in a way that he no doubt thought was charming, but came off as somewhat unnerving. "I wonder if we might speak about your … employment situation?"

"Not this again!" Moira huffed in annoyance. "I said no, learn to take a hint. Besides, you think I'd work for you after this?!" She waved her arms to indicate the alley around her.

The commander's face was fixed in an expression of innocence that looked like it had been practiced. It set off warnings in Fili's head. "I'm sorry, but what _exactly_ are you accusing me of?" he demanded calmly.

"Isn't it obvious?" Moira scoffed. "I think you arranged this little display. You get to be the big hero, show me that you aren't as bigoted as your men. You aren't like the rest of the E-Rep. I can trust you. But here's the thing: when you swept in with your little rescue, their eyes didn't look afraid. They were looking for your approval." The frozen smile on the other man's face told Fili that Moira was correct. Whenever this lifetime was, she had lived through enough betrayals and plots by now to spot such schemers. "You might be a good actor. But your soldiers aren't."

The uniformed man smiled, but the expression didn't reach the coldness of his eyes. "I'm sure you'll appreciate that I can neither confirm nor deny your … senseless accusations. Perhaps this little conspiracy theory that you've woven is a sign that you miss your old job; solving crimes, catching the bad guys. Your talents are being wasted in the mines. Defiance needs you. I'd be willing to elevate you to Lawkeeper."

"Of course you would," Moira scoffed. "A human woman with a half-Casti daughter, working for the new regime? One who also happens to have a moderately good relationship with Rafe McCawley and the miners, who are usually at odds with the Casti community. It's _**great**_ PR for you."

"I won't deny that there are benefits for both of us."

"Mostly you." The sneer was evident in Moira's voice, if not on her face. "Might make it look like the Earth Republic _doesn't_ hate Votans."

"They did invade our planet," he responded coldly.

"The war is over, Pottinger," Moira hissed. "It's been over for a long time. We have to live together now."

Moira took a step back, tilting her head to the side, and her brown eyes looked suddenly cruel. "Do you know when my daughter first heard that word?"

"I imagine it was after your husband - what was his name, Lerutak?" Pottinger smiled smugly at Moira's surprise, before he continued smoothly, "After Lerutak died fighting the Volge, and the Votan elders kicked you and your daughter out of their town, leaving the two of you to wander the Badlands alone. Stunning display of loyalty, by the way."

Moira's small smile was cold, but her eyes suddenly became watery. "You're right. Avila was first called a haint in the Badlands. But you don't know _how_ that happened. Let me tell you, so you'll realize how serious that word is to her. To me. All we had was my roller and a few pairs of clothes each. My only weapon was my husband's charge blade. Eventually I was able to make some money playing _ivali_ , at least when the Castithans where we stopped didn't refuse to play cards with a woman, and I immediately got my hands on some better weaponry. But those first few weeks, I had only the Casti blade to defend us against hellbugs, and if you've ever fought one without a gun, you know how dangerous they are. We ate hellbug meat most nights."

"Avila is lucky to have such a fierce mother to defend her." Pottinger smoothly laid on the flattery, but Moira's smile had a cutting edge to it when she responded, "Hellbugs were easy compared to the raiders."

Pottinger's own smile faltered at that. Uncertainty and unease flashed in his blue eyes, as if he suspected where this tale was heading. But he didn't interrupt her.

"One night, we were awoken by a party of over a dozen raiders. All humans. At first they just dug through the roller, looking for anything valuable, which of course we didn't have. Till one of them realized that Avila was a little _**too**_ pale. I had covered her eyes with her hair, you see, and I was hoping it would be too dark for them to notice. What do you think happened next?"

Despite his former air of control, Pottinger's jaw was clenched tightly now, his head slightly bowed, shoulders hunched. Moira slid closer, spitting her next words in his face viciously. "You see, haint isn't just a racial slur to her. It reminds her of the day she was almost gang-raped, of the day that she nearly had to watch her mother be violated. When I saw we weren't going to get away, that there were too many of them for me to fight, I offered myself in her place. She learned that day that most humans will see her as dirty, and _you_ just made her relive that day."

There was a haunted look in Pottinger's eyes, and Fili's brow furrowed at the commander's almost _personal_ reaction. "I … wasn't aware." His voice was soft, and filled with … was that self-loathing? "If I had known ..."

"Do you think that matters?" There was loathing dripping from Moira's tone as she glared powerfully at the taller man. "She was six years old, Pottinger. Six! And you just reminded her of the worst day of her life!"

"Almost." Pottinger raised his head and there was a spark of hope in his eyes. "You said 'almost'. How did you get out of that..." he swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, and yes, he _**was**_ reacting personally. This story reminded him of something in his own history, Fili was certain. "...that terrible situation?"

Moira smiled genuinely this time, and said one word: "Nolan."

"Nolan," Pottinger jeered a little in derision. "Everywhere I go in this town, I hear about him."

"He's a good man."

"He's a scavenger."

Moira smiled. "He's a _survivor_. And he taught me and Avila how to survive the Badlands. He and Irisa escorted us to what's left of Chicago. We became close."

"I hear he became 'close' with an innumerable amount of women, of all species."

Moira laughed loudly, throwing her head back as she did. "Well, I wasn't foolish enough to think he'd settle down for me. I wanted to put down roots, give Avila a home. He didn't."

"And then you ran into him here, in Defiance, of all places."

"It's the natural place for someone with a half-breed child, isn't it?"

"I know the rest of this little tale. When Mayor Rosewater made him Lawkeeper, he wanted a Deputy he could trust. You left the mines to take that position. Yet Nolan left after only a year on the job. Seems rather unstable, if you ask me."

"He's looking for Irisa. His loyalty is to her, as it should be."

"She ran off." Pottinger continued to push her. "Doesn't seem she wants to be family anymore."

Moira laughed again, and smirked a little. "You don't understand Irathiants, do you?"

"No," Pottinger responded honestly. "But you do. You have an intimate understanding of several alien cultures, deep roots in this town, and you'd be seen as Nolan's natural successor as Lawkeeper. You taking the job isn't just what's best for the E-Rep, its what's best for Defiance."

"I'm not about to legitimatize the E-Rep's occupation," Moira retorted. "Let Tommy have the job. He's already fucking the lady that makes the propaganda films. I'm sure he'll be a good little stooge for you."

"You don't like me?" Pottinger spit as he loomed closer to Moira. "Fine. What you need to ask yourself, Miss Mercer, is whether your daughter would have a better life if you were Lawkeeper, or a mere gulanite miner?"

Moira smiled as she looked up at the uniformed man who was standing uncomfortably close to her now. "There's something I always tell my daughter. _Vakitso ubuno_. It's Casti. Do you know what it means?"

"I can't say that I do."

"'Survivors forever'." Moira stepped back, out of Pottinger's shadow and into the bright sun. "Avila and I have survived a lot worse than you, and we'll survive the E-Rep. If Nolan comes back, I'd work for him. But I won't work for you."

The commander of the army that held her town tilted his head to the side and regarded her with cold, calculating blue eyes. "I find it fascinating that you cling to so many aspects of Castithan culture, yet you went back to your maiden name after his death." Pottinger's voice was quiet, his smile cold. "Tell me, how many grieving Casti widows do that?"

Fili didn't need to see more of this world to know that the answer was none. Pottinger spoke as if he knew there was more to her story. Moira just smiled mysteriously. "If you'll excuse me, I'm late for work. I'll be sure to tell the E-Rep overseer that it was you that kept me."

........................................................................................................................................................................

When Fili looked behind the next door, Moira was being dragged into a tent by soldiers in heavy gear. But these were not the human, E-Rep soldiers he had just seen. They were a mix of several Votan races he had seen in Defiance. And the pale-skinned young man she was forced to sit beside was clearly Casti. He was also beaten and bloody, and his bruises and blood were a pale pink color, the same shade as his eyes. He was clearly a prisoner as well. If they were holding one of their own kind hostage, then he must be from Defiance? As Fili had guessed, the young man's eyes widened with recognition when he saw Moira. "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"Reconnaissance." Moira answered, then grimaced in pain. There were bruises on her face, no doubt the result of her capture.

"Good job." the young man answered with heavy sarcasm. "Some spy you are."

"Getting captured wasn't part of the plan!" she snapped. "I'm a better soldier than spy. I didn't know they had scanners."

Her eyes softened suddenly, and she sighed."Alak, I'm so sorry about Christie," she said softly. "Your parents told us what happened."

"No, they didn't." Cold fury sparked in Alak's pale eyes. "My mother killed her."

"What?!" Moira looked shocked at the revelation. "Are you sure?!"

"I saw it!" he hissed. "I was right outside, I saw it through the window! My mother slit Christie's throat with a charge blade! Now they're spying for the V.C!"

"But ... why?"

"Why do my parents do anything? To save their own skins."

Moira's looked contemplative. "Are you certain of that?" she asked softly.

"What other reason could there be?!"

"Maybe it was to prevent Rahm Tak from finding your son. You know what the Votanis Collective does to half-human children, and I've heard General Tak is _especially_ cruel. They call him the Beast."

"I WAS THERE! I SAW IT WITH MY OWN EYES!"

"Okay, okay. I believe you." Moira raised her hands in surrender. "I really am sorry. Christie was a good person."

Alak's face nearly crumpled at the mention of his wife and the mother of his child. Although he didn't know him in the least, Fili's heart went out to the broken young man. Just then, another Castithan entered the tent, bouncing on the heels of his feet, a disturbingly manic grin on his pale face. His eyes were the same pale pink shade as Alak's, but held none of the young man's kindness.

"Good evening, and how are are we doing?" He was clearly in charge, so Fili assumed this was Rahm Tak. He sounded surprisingly cheerful and amicable for someone that carried the nominative 'the Beast'.

"Actually, I find the service in your establishment to be terrible. I've half a mind to complain to your management and get you fired." Moira masked her fear with cutting sarcasm, as she always did.

"Ohhhh, the mouth on this one!" Rahm laughed a chilling laugh. "So spirited! Very amusing." Suddenly his voice shifted from amused to hard, all business. "You're going to tell me all about Defiance. Every defense, every gun, all about the stasis net, everything."

"I don't know shtako."

"You think I don't know what this means?" He plucked at a star-shaped pin on Moira's chest. "You're the Lawkeeper of that disgusting little town."

"Deputy, actually."

"That's enough. You'll be privy to the defense plans. And you'll tell me who your boss the Lawkeeper is."

"Go fuck yourself."

Rahm grinned evilly. His fist collided with Moira's jaw. She staggered, but remained standing. Alak gasped behind her, begging Rahm to stop, but one of the soldiers clamped a hand on the young man's shoulder heavily to ensure that he wouldn't try anything. Moira stared the General down defiantly. A fist collided with her face again, and she doubled over when she got a knee to the gut.

"Are you going to tell me what I want to know?" Rahm asked as he kicked her in the face. Moira cried out for the first time, and Fili couldn't help but growl in anger.

She glared up at him again, and this time she answered him in his own language. "Umya ksa myunda, usha ksa myunda." Fili was surprised to realize that although he heard the strange fast-spoken words, he also understood them perfectly, presumably because Moira did. " _Not now, not ever_."

"I'd prefer if you'd speak English." Rahm snarled. "I can't stand the way your human tongue perverts the beautiful sounds of Kastíthanu. I'd cut it out for your insult to my race, but," he shrugged exaggeratedly. "Then you wouldn't be able to give me answers." He continued to hit and kick Moira as she was on the ground.

"Stop!" Alak cried out from where the soldier was holding him. "Stop! The Lawkeeper's name is Joshua Nolan!"

"Dammit, Alak!" Moira wheezed from the ground, spitting out a mouthful of blood and a tooth.

"Joshua Nolan." Rahm stopped, considering. Fili could see that he recognized the name. "The Butcher of Yosemite."

"Yeah." Alak looked delighted at Rahm's pause. He started to laugh. "He's the scariest killer on the face of this Earth! And when he gets here, he's gonna rip your jekking throat out!"

"I was at Yosemite." Rahm's pale eyes became haunted and unfocused as memories of what was plainly a terrible war took him away from his present campaign. "There was a lovely waterfall. It ran red with Votan blood for days after Joshua Nolan massacred my comrades." Moira and Alak had both frozen, watching the clearly mentally unstable commander with trepidation as the manic gleam came back to his pink eyes. "It'll be good to see him again."

"Tie them up." Rahm ordered after a few moments, and then swept from the tent, most likely to make preparations. After another soldier, of a different race than Rahm and Alak, tied their hands behind them to a tent pole, forcing them to both sit on the ground.

"They're going to torture us, you know." she warned Alak in a low voice when the guard had moved away somewhat, complaining about the 'human smell' as he did so. "It's gonna get worse. You CANNOT give into him!"

"I couldn't just watch him beat you." He protested angrily. "I'm not my father."

"My daughter is half-Casti, Alak!" Moira growled angrily. "What do you think happens to Avila when Rahm takes Defiance?!" He looked stricken at the prospect. "We CANNOT let Defiance fall to him, Alak. We can't. I'll die first." Moira hissed.

"Does it make me a horrible person if I'm glad you're here, Hayley?" Alak smiled weakly.

"Maybe a little." Moira smiled back. "But it's okay. Its human nature not to want to be alone at times like this. We're more alike than we are different."

......................................................................................................................................................................

Moira was forced to her knees in the circle of Votan soldiers. Rahm stalked around her. "Lemme me guess," she drawled, "You gonna speechify at me some more?"

The Casti general struck her face with the side of his gun, hard enough to cause her to fall forward with the force of the blow.

"Got any more smart words, you gwoking bitch?"

Moira straightened with a grunt, fixing Rahm with a glare that seemed nearly intense enough to reduce the alien general to smoking ash. If only it actually was. He looked over at one of his people, who nodded at him, and then his swaggering increased 10 times as he circled Moira. Then he began to speak in a booming voice.

"Votans of Defiance, I've given your mayor a chance to surrender and let the human scum leave peacefully. She's refused. Perhaps you need a demonstration of my sincerity. You already know that this one," he gestured towards Moira with the gun in his hand, "Helped my other prisoner to escape, sacrificing herself in the process. So selfless!" he crowed mockingly.

"I've since discovered something about Deputy Hayley Mercer. She's committed the unforgivable crime of mixing noble Castithan blood with her dirty, degraded human heritage." Rahm's features twisted in disgust as he spoke. "She's given birth to a half-Votan abomination. For that, she must die."

He placed the blocky alien gun against the back of Moira's head. To her he said, "Your image is being beamed holographically straight into the town square. Wonders of the modern age." Rahm chuckled darkly. "Any last words you want your people to hear?"

Moira cleared her throat. "Nolan, please make sure Avila doesn't see this. Tell my baby girl I love her, and even knowing it would end like this, I don't regret having her. Not for one minute."

"Awww, how sweet!" Rahm crowed mockingly. Moira clearly restrained herself from snapping back at him, most likely afraid he would cut off her last words if he did.

"Hey everybody, I know things look bad right now. But I want you to know that it's been my honor and my privilege to serve as your Lawkeeper's deputy. Defiance is a special place, where Votan and human live and work together, where we've put old hatreds aside to try to create something new. That's beautiful! You took a woman and a girl wandering the Badlands alone, gave them a home, a place to call their own. Defiance is worth fighting for! We were occupied for over a year! The E-Rep couldn't break us! This bastard can't either, if we don't let him. Stay strong, stick together. Keep fighting. Keep -"

Rahm pulled the trigger, cutting off her speech in the middle. The world went black, and Fili closed the door, feeling sick.

....................................................................................................................................................................

The next room wasn't a room at all. It was a black _abyss_ , lit by stars. In the middle of the abyss, there was a circle of dim light, and inside this light, Moira was kneeling. What exactly was going on? A voice from somewhere in the vicinity of the stars above came, strangely high-pitched, yet … authoritative, somehow. "Much hatred do I sense in you, much darkness, much fear. More than the young one, even. Already know the power of the Dark Side, you do."

"I know." Moira didn't seem surprised to hear the strange voice. She looked up, searching the nothingness above her. "I'm trying not to give into it."

"Do, or do not," the voice responded. "There is no try."

Moira sneered. "It's so easy to declare that from on high, but it's a _lot_ harder when you live down here in the mud, instead of hiding away from the fight like you do!"

"Spit on the wisdom of the Jedi, do you?" The strange, high-pitched voice sounded more amused than offended. But Moira still looked shamefaced at the admonishment from him – the only thing Fili was certain of was that the voice came from a male.

"No, I - "

"Here, you are." The voice interrupted her defense. "Why?"

This time she thought for a long moment, before she responded with one word: "Kanan."

"Ahhhhh." The chuckle was more of a breathy wheeze. "Kanan."

"I don't want to be a Jedi." Moira looked at her hands, since her disembodied conversation partner gave her no face to focus on. Those hands were flexing, forming into fists and then relaxing again as she spoke. "It's - It's too dangerous. I know what I am. I _know_ I'd give into the Dark Side, because it's already happened."

This was after Rahl, then, Fili realized. This was the first time that he realized he was seeing Moira's memories out of order. She must have buried the memories of Rahl deeper in her psyche. "I'm - I'm trying to make up for everything I've done, but … that doesn't mean I should be a Jedi. I don't deserve it." Moira took a deep shuddering breath. "I just don't know what to tell Kanan."

"So hard for you, truth is?" The voice managed to sound gentle, amused, challenging, and wise, all at once.

Moira responded with one simple word. "Yes."

"Judge you harshly, Kanan would?" The voice spoke as if he already knew the answer, and was only asking for Moira's benefit.

She shook her head instantly. "No, no. It's not him. It fact, he knows _something_ happened, he just doesn't know _what_." One side of her mouth quirked upward, the first indication of any emotion besides sadness, anger, or guilt. "Can't exactly keep secrets when you work this close with a Jedi. It's _me_. I'm the problem."

"Some of your past, I see." Moira visibly tensed at that, but the strange backward-talking voice was gentle, kind. Forgiving. "All your fault, it is not."

Moira looked completely shocked. "But …. aren't Sith made in a similar way?" Moira looked up as she questioned, "If I were truly good, wouldn't I have chosen to die rather than serve … " Moira swallowed, not able to finish.

"Dying, not an option. Tried, you did." Moira continued to shake her head as the voice spoke. As if Fili needed more confirmation that she blamed herself. But really, she held herself to an impossible standard. From what she had told him, _no one_ could have held onto their sanity in Rahl's dungeons. "Knowing yourself, not an easy task. Before you, a choice is."

"Are you saying …. It's _my_ decision if I should be trained to master the Force?" There was wonder in her voice, but the disembodied man didn't answer her.

"No, I failed. I don't deserve to be Jedi." Moira bowed her head, her shoulders slumped, and Fili got the distinct impression that she was waiting for an executioner's ax. It never came. A door appeared out of the starlit blackness.

"Then go, you should." The voice held no anger at her refusal of training.

"Wait." Moira looked confused. "That's it? I can just leave?"

"Expect something else, you did?"

"The bodies … Kanan said they belonged to Masters whose Padawans never returned … and I just failed."

"Failed?" The voice dissolved into cackling laughter, before it recovered and went on. "Not failed. Made a _choice _you did. A Padawan, you are not." the voice said simply. "Go, you must."__

__

Moira nodded, her face flooded with gratefulness and relief as she stood. "Thank you, Master Yoda."

....................................................................................................................................................................

The room beyond the next door was made of cold gray metal. It was far cleaner than Defiance had been, placed in the war-ravaged ruins of a once-advanced world as it was. This one, however, felt both more technologically advanced than the last world Fili had seen, and somehow … _colder_. But perhaps that was because Moira was bound to a slanted metal table that held her immobile. Her face was bloodied, but she was glaring defiantly at the two men who were standing in front of her, both wearing some kind of uniform. A round metal … _thing_ … was floating around her, and the fierce, vicious-looking needle that protruded from it led Fili to believe that it was a torture device of some kind.

"It's only a matter a time before she breaks and tells us where her Rebel friends are," the younger, blond man was saying.

"You've already wasted far too much of my time," the old, gaunt-faced man responded in a dismissive sneer to the one who Fili assumed was his subordinate.

The wall slid open then, and a forbidding looking man of a race unknown to Fili entered. The sinister black-clad figure was bald, his skin ashen-gray with red markings, and his golden eyes glowed malevolently. When he spoke, the vicious curve of his mouth revealed horrible jagged teeth. "You are no doubt aware, Jedi are trained to resist mind-probes." _Jedi_. Fili had heard that word before, in the strange abyss with the backwards-talking voice, although he didn't know what it meant.

"If she is truly the Jedi's student," the older man answered. "I _need_ the information she has. You had best not fail me again."

Interestingly, Fili saw the expression of extreme loathing on the blond man's face at the exchange between his comrades, but it lasted for only a moment before he covered it.

"There are no Jedi left," Moira growled, glaring at the tall alien man. "You're wasting your time, Inquisitor."

"We shall see." The Inquisitor raised a black-gloved hand as he loomed closer to her, and his voice became smooth and commanding. "Where are your Rebel friends? Where is your Jedi leader?"

Moira's face contorted into a grimace as he clearly tried to invade her mind. "NO!" she hissed. "You won't get … shit … from me … I don't … know … anything," she grunted. "And I'm not afraid to die."

"Oh, I believe you," the Inquisitor growled. "At least, I believe you are not afraid to die. But I think you know a great deal." He smiled an unnerving smile, displaying sharp teeth, and his yellow eyes glinted. "I can sense it. You're terrified I'll take that knowledge from you."

"You villains … are all … in love with … the sound of … your own voice." Moira was panting with the effort of keeping this 'Inquisitor' out of her mind, of protecting whoever it was she cared about here.

"Where are your friends?"

"No …. no …." She was shaking her head, gasping. "Kanan!"

"Yes, Kanan." The Inquisitor nearly purred, clearly pleased that he had been able to pull that much from her. "Where is Kanan?"

"He's …. he's …." every word sounded like it was a strain.

"Yes? Where is he?"

"He's … he's with … your mother." Moira smiled, and there was something strangely frightening about it, even bound as she was. "Yeah, he's got her bent over a table. Hear she's a real slut."

"She's had training," the Inquisitor grunted. "She's not a Jedi, but she _is_ Force-sensitive."

"Not a Jedi …. Not Force-sensitive." Moira's short hair had fallen in front of her face as she had strained against the alien man's attempt to force himself inside her mind, and blood began to trickle from one of her nostrils. The blood dripping onto her upper lip made her smile look all the more feral. "Have you considered that you just _suck_ at your job?"

The blond man standing at the back of the room spoke suddenly, his voice sounding surprised. "This isn't the first time she's been interrogated."

"You mean tortured, Agent Kallus?" Moira spat back. "No, not by a long shot."

"Her will is extremely strong," the Inquisitor grunted, and a bead of sweat rolled down his face as he loomed closer to her.

"What would you recommend?" the older uniformed man asked.

"Pain," the Inquisitor answered. "No one is immune to pain."

"Give me your best shot," Moira sneered. "You wouldn't be the first to try."

"If you insist," the Inquisitor waved his hand, and a metal arm-like contraption detached itself from the wall. The point of the "arm" moved near to Moira's face, and Fili gasped when blue lightning suddenly shot from it, enveloping Moira's body in its bright light, crackling as it did so. Most horrifying of all, the smell of burnt flesh reached Fili's nose. It only took a moment before Moira began to scream. Fili quickly shut the door, harder than he meant to, making the slam reverberate down the darkened castle's halls. He didn't need to see the rest. How many times had his One been tortured? Fili wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Moira was watching a small child - no, a teenager? Fili had no skill at telling the ages of Men. This boy seemed on the verge of adolescence, but was still small and scrawny. His shaggy hair was so black it was almost blue, and his large bright blue eyes were glistening as he cried. He had drawn his knees up to his chest as he sobbed, making himself appear even smaller. Moira made a decision and strode up to the cliff edge where the boy was perched. He made an effort to stifle his tears now that she had joined him, and she didn't look directly at him, letting him have the space to compose himself as much as he could.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. "You know, I watched one of my brothers die."

The boy looked up from his weeping, shocked. "I … I didn't even know you _had_ brothers."

"Once." Moira smiled sadly at the slight, blue-haired child, before sitting beside him and continuing. "A long time ago." The boy watched her with fascinated interest. "But what made it worse was that Ivar, my youngest brother, was the one who killed him."

The boy's jaw dropped. "That's horrible!" he gasped out.

"It happened so fast," Moira went on, gazing at the twin moons that hung in the sky (Fili had done a double take when he first saw the two moons, before focusing on the scene in front of him). "Ivar and Sigurd had always fought, and Sigurd was taunting him, and then suddenly …. there was an ax buried in Sigurd's chest. It wasn't long after that, that what was left of my family went to war with each other. And I had to choose sides."

"What did you do?"

Moira shook herself, not allowing herself to get swept away in the memories. "Doesn't matter what I did, Ezra. They're all gone now. My entire family."

" _Everyone?_ " Ezra gasped in shock. Fili knew the real reason they were all gone, but Moira was doing the careful editing that she sometimes did to allow her to share some of her story. She nodded. "My parents, my brothers, everyone. For all I know, I'm the only Viking in the galaxy. Zeb and I have that in common, being the last of our kind. War does that."

Ezra's large, watery eyes filled with compassion. "I'm so sorry. I never had any brothers or sisters. Just my parents."

Moira patted the boy on the back, looking into the distance where the two, differently-sized moons hung in the lightening sky as dawn approached. "I'm not trying to take away from your pain, Ezra. What I'm saying is, at least you know that your parents died heroes. Saving all those prisoners, helping them escape from the Empire. I know you'd rather have them alive, especially after so many years alone, but it's something to hold onto. It's a good death. I don't know what your parents believed, if they believed in anything. But if they were Viking, I'd say they were in Valhalla with Odin."

"Kanan would probably say that they're now at one with the Force," Ezra said softly.

"I'm sure he would," Moira responded. Her hand was still resting on the boy's back. "Perhaps they are. But I can tell you one thing for sure: they both live through you. They will _always_ be with you." She paused for a second, considering her next words carefully before she turned to catch Ezra's eyes. "Vikings believe that concept is very literal. That a piece of the parent's soul is in the child, reincarnated down the family line. Forever."

Ezra watched her for a moment, before the slight boy flung himself at her, wrapping his thin arms around her and burying his head in her neck in a tight hug. "Thank you," he mumbled into her skin. They were both so small for their race, Fili wondered if either had been fed enough as children. The thought made him feel at once overwhelmed with deep sadness and fierce protectiveness.

After a moment Ezra pulled away. "You know, you're not alone anymore. You have us now. And I'm not going to let you lose another family." The passion with which he whispered that was overwhelming. He fervently believed that he would be able to prevent more loss and pain.

"Thank you, Ezra," Moira murmured, but avoided his eyes. He couldn't stop her curse, and Fili knew she wouldn't want to burden him with something he had no power over.

The boy frowned at her response, but didn't press her further. If he'd been just a child when his parents were sent to this Empire's prison, forced to grow up alone (and likely on the streets, explaining why he was so skinny), he was probably no stranger to hopelessness.

.....................................................................................................................................................................

Fili had never seen a desert before. Harad, far to the south of Middle-Earth, was filled with them, and there wasa clan of Dwarves native to those hills, but Fili and his folk had never been that far. The vast expanse of sand beyond the next door took his breath away. Even more shocking to him, there were two suns in the sky. Even from his position at the door, Fili could feel the incredible heat from the _two_ suns beating down on the people below. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck and slid under his tunic.

Scattered about the scene were those hulking metal monsters that Fili now knew were capable of traveling to the _stars_ , and to worlds beyond. The concept stretched the limits of his knowledge of what was possible. If he hadn't seen it himself, Fili would not have believed it. Those strange, living metal creatures called 'droids' were bustling about, among the people working under the intense alien suns. Moira was bent over a large crate, almost as tall as she was, thumbing through the digital display on the side. A tall Man with a goatee and mahogany brown hair pulled into a ponytail approached Moira, calling her 'Siri'.

"Kanan," Moira greeted him as she turned from her work.

So this was the man who had wanted her to be trained as a Jedi, whatever that was. Fili studied him. He was slightly on the skinny side, Fili thought, but his green eyes were bright and cunning. He wore some kind of asymmetrical armor over the right arm. There was a roguish quality to him, but also, a strange serenity that clung to him. He had a kindness in his eyes, too, and spoke to Moira - Siri, to him - with an easy familiarity that said they had fought together for some time. "Has Ezra told you about the plan?"

"You mean the three of us, and Ahsoka, going after the Inquisitors alone? You know it's suicide, right?"

"There's that cheerful spirit I love having along." Kanan playfully punched her arm.

"No, seriously, _why_ do you want me along?"

"We can't keep running from the Inquisitors, we need to make a stand."

"No, no, I get you, Kanan." Moira shrugged. "I know it's gotta happen. But I don't understand why you want _me_ there. I didn't earn a kyber crystal in the Jedi Temple. I failed the test. I'm not a Jedi, and I won't ever be one."

"Do you think that will matter to the Inquisitors?" he asked. Moira looked away into the desert vastness. Fili had already seen Moira tortured by one Inquisitor; if there were more, he didn't think they would care that Moira had refused Kanan's offer of training. "You _could_ be Jedi, that's enough to them."

"I'll just be in the way," Moira protested.

"In your vision, you said you were there."

"I should've lied." Moira sighed.

"Siri!" Kanan gave her a disapproving glare. "As long as we're with the Rebellion, we're putting them at risk. Even you. The Inquisitors wiped out an entire transport for two younglings, remember? Do you think they'd leave a Rebel base alone because you're not as powerful as Ezra, because you chose not to be trained?"

Moira sighed heavily. "No."

The taller man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, bright green eyes looking down into Moira's dark ones. "Have faith in yourself, Siri, and in the Force."

"I'll try, Kanan."

.....................................................................................................................................................................

Kanan draped an arm around Moira as they walked down the corridor. "I think you should speak with Ahsoka, personally, before we leave."

"Why?" She looked up at the taller man, narrowing her eyes slightly in suspicion.

"I'm hoping she can assuage some of your fears." Kanan said as they came to a stop in the hallway.

"Kanan, I don't think -"

But he didn't listen to her protests. He pressed a button, the door sliding open, and Kanan pushed her inside before she could react. "In you go!" he crowed cheerfully.

The door slid shut.

"That was a dirty trick!" she yelled.

"Learn to use the Force and you can fight back!" came the yell through the now closed door. Even muffled through the door, his amusement at the situation came through in his voice.

Trapped, Moira turned towards the woman sitting on the ground, legs crossed, eyes closed, hands draped over her knees in what Moira had told Fili was a common meditation pose. Ahsoka Tano. The first thing that Fili noticed about her was that her hair was striped blue and white - no, on closer inspection, that wasn't hair at all. It was flesh, like Hera's head-tails. Unlike the tentacle-like appendages that the Twi'lek woman sported, Ahsoka's was more ... hair- _shaped_ , if that made any sense, although the top of the striped flesh-hair turned into two small horn-like cones on either side of her head. Mahal, he was never going to be able to explain all of this to Kili when he got back!

Moira stepped cautiously towards the meditating woman, and Fili took the moment to study her further. She had bright orange skin with white patterns on the forehead, cheeks, and around the eyes, and when she ended her meditation and opened her eyes, he found they were a brilliant, unnatural blue. Fili had to admit that Ahsoka was beautiful … in a strange, otherworldly sort of way. Which, Fili supposed, made sense. She smiled gently at Moira's approach. "Sit, Siri. It's good to meet you."

"We've met." Moira said as she sat across from her, crossing her own legs and sitting in the same meditation pose. "You were flying the _Ghost_ when Kanan and Ezra rescued me from Tarkin's Star Destroyer. But I wasn't exactly up to visiting after the Grand Inquisitor had worked me over."

"Yes." The tranquility that Kanan sometimes projected was stronger around this woman, and she was watching Moira with a strange, clear-eyed, but somehow intense expression. "But we've never had the opportunity to talk one-on-one. Kanan tells me that you have doubts about yourself, about your ability to wield the Force."

There was something about Ahsoka Tano that seemed to compel Moira to answer honestly. "Not so much my ability to wield it, but to do so … morally."

"You fear falling to the Dark Side more than being killed."

"I …. Yes."

"Will you let your shields down, allow me to touch your mind?"

Despite her sitting position, Moira visibly recoiled from the prospect. "I-I-I," she stuttered, before swallowing and taking a moment to collect herself before responding. "I don't like other people in my mind. Bad things happen when … I don't like other people in my mind." Fili couldn't help but be shocked at how honest she was with Ahsoka in less than a minute. From what he had gathered, she had known Ezra for over a year before revealing that she had brothers to him. She had known Kanan even longer, but Fili wasn't sure how much he actually knew about her.

"I promise not to read your thoughts, or look into any specific memories." Ahsoka reassured her. "I want only to get a sense of you."

Moira worried her bottom lip for a moment, before responding softly. "Okay."

Ahsoka closed her eyes as she raised one hand. She took a deep breath, and although he couldn't see any change in the room at all, Fili knew that she was using her powerful senses to reach out with this "Force" he had heard so much about. Moira closed her eyes too, looking nervous at first, but after a moment, a calm seemed to settle over her. After several minutes, Ahsoka opened her eyes again, lowering her hand as she did so. "I understand your fears. I _do_ sense the seeds of darkness in you. And regret. Much regret."

Moira shoulders slumped and her face fell, as if she had hoped that Ahsoka would say something different. "I told you."

"But," Moira looked up when Ahsoka continued, surprise on her face and hope sparking in her eyes. "Things are not as hopeless as you might think. I have …. Struggled with the darkness inside of myself, in a way that most Lightsiders have not. Take heart. You are not lost entirely."

"Doesn't matter. I … I'm not a Jedi."

"Neither am I."

"What?"

"I left the Order." Ahsoka seemed amused at Moira's shock. "Did you think that the Jedi and the Sith are the only ones who use the Force?"

"Um…" Clearly, she had.

"Your shields are far too strong for you to have simply learned to block my probe on your own. You have training, of some sort, already."

Moira squinted, clearly trying to decide what to tell the other woman. Finally she settled on the truth. "My people … we just call it magic. It was an old wizard who taught me to protect my mind."

Ahsoka nodded. "The Force has many names. And so do those who wield it. You may not choose to become Jedi, but you don't have to fear your powers as much as you do. And thanks to the Empire and the Inquisitors, there are so few Force-users left. You may need every possible weapon in your arsenal, just to survive."

Moira shrugged. "I've survived this long."

"That was before the Grand Inquisitor knew about you. Kanan may have killed him when he rescued you, but the others with come. Retrieval of Force-sensitives is a secondary mission of the Inquisitors, after killing the remaining Jedi."

"I know." Moira's voice was terrified whisper. "But I've seen what happens when I give into the darkness inside of me. How can making myself more powerful, giving myself that temptation, _possibly_ be a good thing?"

"You must make that choice. You must look inside yourself." Ahsoka smiled gently. "Tell me you'll at least think about it."

Moira nodded numbly, eyes unfocused. "Okay." To Fili's surprise, she looked like she was actually considering it.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

Moira and another female were locked in combat with swords that were made of beams of red _fire_ , the blades making a _ffffff_ hissing sound when they clashed together.

"If you aren't a Jedi, then how do you fight with a lightsaber?" the other woman demanded.

"Oh this? I just borrowed it." Moira spoke casually, but she grunted with effort, and Fili could see that despite her flippant attitude, wielding this 'lightsaber' was taking a toll on her. "Besides, it's just a sword, and I've been sword-fighting for longer than you've been alive, Inquisitor."

"Have you?" the woman sneered. "How very interesting. I was under the impression you were human."

"More human than you." Moira managed to deflect the woman's next thrust and plunged her lightsaber into her heart. Before her enemy's body had fallen at her feet, Moira had raised her eyes to follow the sounds of another battle above her. There were flashes of blue and red on a higher level of the pyramid above her, indicating that her Jedi companions were battling more Inquisitors.

...................................................................................................................................................................

A pulse of blue energy was shooting out of some kind of pyramid-shaped structure poised at the top of the greater pyramid that Moira had just ascended, lightning shooting out of the larger energy pulse, lancing along the walls, lighting the entire room, the entire building - was this a Temple, like the Jedi one they talked about before? - in blue fire. The very air itself crackled, and Fili felt all the hair on his body raise in response to the energy singing through the air. It felt as if the world was ending. Maybe it was.

Ezra was unconscious, stretched out on the ground. Moira stood over him. Her clothes were ripped, her face bloody, but her lips set in a hard line. Her borrowed red blade was raised as a massive, black-armored Man stalked toward her, his own red lightsaber raised in front of him. He moved slowly and confidently. He did not see Moira as the tiniest threat, and Fili had to agree, despite himself.

Fili had never felt menace like that which rolled off of the black knight. Not from Smaug, not from Azog, not from any enemy he had ever faced. Fili knew instinctively that this was not another Inquisitor; this was something else entirely. Something far more powerful and far more dangerous. Fili imagined that this was what the presence of Sauron himself would feel like: evil personified. It was a black, sticky sickness that seeped outward, tainting the very air around him. Fili felt his throat closing up with a kind of primal fear that clawed at his soul. He had not had this kind of visceral reaction to anything he had yet seen in her memories. He couldn't imagine what it must have felt like in person.

The black-cloaked menace advanced on Moira, and Fili could hear a mechanical, coarse, rasping breathing through his helmet. He was so much larger than her; she was barely taller than the young child she was protecting, after all.

"I'm not afraid of you," Moira challenged the black knight.

"You're a pitiable liar. You reek of fear and self-loathing." Fili had to agree, sadly. Moira was plainly terrified, her voice wavering and sweat pouring down her face. Although maybe the sweat was because of the incredible discharge of energy still filling the room. "There is no need for you to die today, Siri Starscream. The Emperor would show you mercy, you and your young friend. If you just tell us where the rest of the Jedi are."

"Never."

"Very well. So you will die today, and the child."

Moira barely raised her stolen blade to block where the black knight brought his lightsaber down hard. He attacked, ruthlessly, inhumanly quickly. The Inquisitor Moira had killed before was nothing compared to this … creature of darkness she was fighting now. Although 'fighting' was an extremely generous term. 'Fighting' implied that she had a ghost of a chance against him. The black knight was toying with her, drawing her fear out and savoring it.

Behind her, Ezra started to come around. He shook his head, his hair swishing as he attempted to shake the grogginess from his mind. "The holocron," he muttered. What was a holocron? "Can't let Vader get it." He stood, somewhat wobbly, and looked back at where Moira was battling the black knight - Vader? - where Moira was battling Vader. And she was losing terribly. Ezra looked conflicted. "Siri..."

"Ezra, RUN!" Moira yelled. "Get out of here! Go get it!"

Making a decision, Ezra turned, dashing towards where the discharge of energy was crashing out of the ancient structure and arcing along the walls. Soon Fili couldn't see him anymore, and he refocused on the clash between Moira and Vader. She put up a valiant fight, but it wasn't long at all before she was on the ground, her stolen weapon knocked from her hand and far out of reach. The black knight's heavy boot was crushing her fragile wrist. The plain terror in her eyes pulled at Fili's heart. The red, flaming end of the black knight's lightsaber was held a faction of an inch from her face as he loomed over her. "Not even a challenge." The sneer in his voice somehow managed to come through even with the mechanical rasping. "You are weak. You should have chosen the Dark Side." He raised his fiery sword, and for a moment, Fili was certain that this was the end of this lifetime. The way Moira dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut, she must have believed that same thing.

There was a sudden blur of motion, a flash of blue clashing against the red, and Fili recognized the figure of Kanan vaulting with incredible Force-powerful quickness into the fray. Attacked while savoring the moment of the kill, Vader actually was pushed back a few steps. But the black knight recovered quicker than Fili would have liked. Moira scrambled up and dived towards the lightsaber that had been knocked from her, just as Ezra ran to her side - and it was then that Fili realized that something was wrong with Kanan. His face was covered with gray metal mask. Why was he wearing a mask? Ezra answered Fili's unspoken question.

"Siri, Kanan … h-he can't _see_ …." the boy's eyes were wide as he gasped that out, and Fili's heart seized up.

"What?!" Moira whipped around, gripping her stolen lightsaber, still deactivated, as she turned. Kanan was on his knees now, already overpowered by the fearsome might of the black knight, the lightsaber in his hand raised in defense … but before Moira could do anything or rush to his aid, the arc of vicious red light came down, the sizzle as it sliced through his flesh audible even to Fili's ears at this distance. Kanan let out a piercing scream of pain that made Fili cringe. Even worse, he could smell cooking meat.

" _ **NOOOOOOOOOO!**_ " Ezra screeched, a howl of rage and despair, his hands outstretched, and to Fili's shock the power of his Force-powered rage was enough to fling Vader hard backwards into the wall. Moira and Ezra took the moment to race to Kanan, hefting him between them. "Leave me," he gasped out. "Chopper's coming with the ship."

Moira shook her head as she lifted Kanan's good arm over her shoulder and began to half-run, half-drag him away. "No! We'll _all_ get out of here."

"We've got you, Master, you're going to be okay," Ezra's eyes brimmed with concern as the much smaller boy struggled to help Moira with Kanan's weight.

"Siri," Kanan's voice was a painful groan. His mask had fallen sometime during the fight with Vader, and Fili could now see horrible, angry red burns around his eyes that could only be from a lightsaber. Whatever reserves of strength and calm he had called on to continue to battle after his initial injury, it was gone now with this second more grievous wounding. He grimaced in pain, both from his scorched eyes and his severed arm, which to Fili's horror, was _still smoking_. "You're always the realistic one. If you have to make a choice between saving me or Ezra, choose him. Protect my Padawan. Get him out of here."

"No, Kanan." Moira shook her head, and Fili could see that she was holding back tears. "I'm getting you _both_ out of here."

Suddenly Ezra twirled around, seemingly against his will, the hand that held a small pyramid-shaped object stretched out in front of him - Fili assumed that this was the 'holocron' that it was so vital to keep out of the hands of the Inquisitors.

"What's happening?!" Ezra's voice was alarmed.

The looming black menace had recovered and was advancing on them again, his black-gloved hand outstretched. Moira dropped Kanan, who grunted at the bone-jarring pain, as she grabbed the boy being dragged along the floor by the invisible force of Vader's power.

"Nonononononononononononoo!" Ezra's alarm had transformed into full-blown panic.

"I've got you!" Moira attempted to dig her heels into the floor, but it was too smooth for her to find any purchase. She refused to let go of Ezra, who refused to let go the holocron. So they were both dragged closer to the creature that was radiating darkness. It was like Vader sucked all the light and warmth in the vicinity into himself, making the world colder and darker just by being.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" A voice rang out, breaking through the red haze of fear. "Or are you a coward?" Standing on the far side of the platform, the discharge of blue energy lit behind her illuminating her form and making her look like some kind of avenging spirit, was Ahsoka Tano.

"So, our long awaited meeting has come at last." With Ahsoka's arrival, it was as if Vader forgot about the others. All his attention was on her.

"I'm glad I gave you something to look forward to."

"We need not be adversaries." He made the same offer to Ahsoka that he had made to Moira - mercy in exchange for the location of any surviving Jedi.

"I was beginning to believe I knew who you were, behind that mask." Somehow Ahsoka managed to stand strong and firm before the vile sickness that leached out into the air from Vader. She didn't sound afraid at all. "But it's impossible. My master could _**never**_ be as vile as you!"

Her words made Fili gape. She … she thought she _knew_ him?!

"Anakin Skywalker was weak." the black knight responded. "I destroyed him."

The incredible pain that crossed Ahsoka's face hardened into cold resolve. "Then I will avenge his death."

"Revenge is not the Jedi way."

"I'm no Jedi." Ahsoka ignited a blazing white lightsaber in each hand and ran at Vader. When he met her attack, she had crossed her swords of light in front of her and caught Vader's downstroke between them. The violence and strength of his assault nearly bent Ahsoka backwards, but she had a nearly supernatural strength and speed and recovered. Back and forth they went, like a whirlwind of deadly, beautiful fury, faster than Fili could follow. Ahsoka almost seemed a match for Vader. _Almost_.

During the fight, Moira and Ezra had dragged Kanan to the edge of the pyramid's platform. Relief flooded over Moira and Ezra's faces when their ship arrived. Fili didn't know which one it was, but it was much smaller than the _Ghost_. He guessed it was meant primarily for transport, and did not double as a home like the one they lived on. Moira dragged Kanan into the ship, but Ezra was perched just outside it, screaming for Ahsoka to come, to hurry up. Fili realized that the structure they were fighting in was collapsing, the blue energy arcing over the walls consuming the edifice. If they didn't leave soon, they'd be trapped beneath the rock forever.

Fili looked back into the distance to where Ahsoka and Vader were still locked in desperate battle. Both of them had been knocked to the ground, their fiery swords gone, and even from here Fili could tell that Ahsoka was panting heavily, such was the toll that the combat was taking on her.

There was a pause. Vader turned his masked face to her as they both struggled to their feet. For a moment, neither of them did anything. Fili couldn't hear what either of them were saying from this distance, but their weapons were deactivated, and they just stood facing each other. "She _does_ know him," Fili whispered to himself in horror. "Whoever he used to be….."

Whatever moment they were sharing passed, and the red flame of Vader's sword sprang forth once again. He was still going to kill her.

"Ahsoka!" Ezra yelled and started to run towards her.

"Ezra, NO!" Moira shrieked from her position beside the wounded, passed-out Kanan.

Ahsoka turned, her features hardening in determination, as she raised her hand. Ezra flew back into the ship with a resounding _thump_. The door began to close of its own accord. Ezra screamed and the tears finally ran down Moira's face as the sight of Ahsoka and Vader was lost.

......................................................................................................................................................................

"Kanan?" Moira's voice was soft as she entered his darkened cabin. It took a moment for Fili's eyes to adjust to the dark. Fili heard a _clunk_ , and when his eyes followed the sound, he saw that the steel toe of Moira's boot had collided with an empty bottle. The floor was littered with them.

"Go away." Kanan's voice was gruffer than usual, rough and croaking with disuse, the words slurred. The pungent stench of alcohol filled the tiny room, mingled with the stink of unwashed sweat and utter despair. The aura of misery was palpable, so thick, that Fili thought he'd drown in it. Moira ignored Kanan's brushoff and carefully picked her way between the scattered refuse on the floor and made her way to the bunk where her friend was sprawled, blind, unseeing eyes staring at the metal above him. Kanan's eyes used to be a vibrant green; now they were a haunting gray-white, the burns surrounding them where Maul's lightsaber had maimed him difficult to gaze at for too long. Fili knew that Maul had only to flick his wrist a little harder, and the blade made of fire would have burned through Kanan's entire skull instead. This fate was almost crueler than what would have been a relatively quick death, especially considering even after Maul had blinded him, he had still saved Moira's life, and lost an arm for his trouble.

Fili didn't entirely understand the conversation he had heard when Ezra and Moira had dragged Kanan back to the Rebel base after the disaster on Malachor. Apparently, under normal circumstances, the wounded Jedi might have been able to be fitted with a metal replacement arm, similar to the droid-creatures that roamed this reality. (Fili had to be more careful about using the word 'world' here, since he had already seen 'starships' journey to at least three planets, and Moira herself lived on one of the smaller ships, her newfound family making its home nestled among the stars, instead of any one world). Such a thing, replacing a lost limb with an equally functioning one, was an obvious impossibility in Middle-Earth. Here, it was not exactly commonplace, but not unheard of. But for some reason, the 'robotic nerve-ending connections' had not been able to be made. His body rejected the arm that had been fitted to him, nearly killing him in the process. Something about a rare condition the Knight had which created a 'biological incompatibility' with the technology. So it was that Kanan Jarrus, possibly the last Jedi Knight in the galaxy, had lost not only his sight, but his right arm as well.

"Kanan, you've cut yourself off from the Force," she said quietly. "I can't feel you anymore."

"I don't want to _feel_ anything," he grumbled. To emphasize his point, he shook his stub of a right arm in her general direction. The sleeve of his shirt had been folded over and sewed shut. The arm had been severed right above the elbow joint, and now the green sleeve of the shirt was dirty and soaked with sweat. He clearly hadn't changed in days.

"You're well on your way to achieving that goal, if you're trying to drink yourself to death."

He didn't respond. After a moment, she tried again. "We need you, Kanan. _Ezra_ needs you. I'm worried about you. We all are."

"I can feel it when you have a nightmare, you know. This is a small ship." Moira recoiled a little, but Kanan went on, his voice filled with anguish. "I can feel your fear, your pain. It's _overwhelming_. Your nightmares are even worse than Ezra's, and I feel his through our bond. I don't know who hurt you - tortured you - but I know it went on for a _long_ time. I don't want to feel the galaxy's pain anymore."

"Kanan -"

"You were wise to refuse training." The bitterness in his voice was crushing. When Fili saw Moira interact with Kanan before Malachor, he had sensed some pain in his past, but Kanan had somehow remained hopeful and calm. The serenity that had clung to him was gone now, destroyed in the encounter at what Fili now knew had been a Sith Temple, torn asunder by the black knight who had killed Ahsoka. _Vader_. Fili shivered involuntarily at the memory. "Being a Jedi is a terrible burden. Sometimes, I wish I had not been born with the Force."

Moira sat in silence, her lips fixed into a frown. Fili didn't know if she was stunned by Kanan's admission, or if she simply had no words to ease his pain. After a moment she moved away from where the wounded Jedi lay. But she didn't leave. Instead she turned and placed her back against the cold metal of the wall beside his bunk and drew her knees up to her chest. Her voice was still soft and gentle, but Fili recognized the weight of all her pain in the words, a pain that reached out to Kanan's in recognition of their shared agony. "I'll sit with you for a while."

"You don't need to babysit the cripple."

"You're less a cripple than anyone else in your situation would be. You could see through the Force if you wanted to."

He didn't respond, and Fili almost didn't hear the tiny whisper that came from her lips next, soft as a sigh, "And I don't abandon my friends. You didn't abandon me."

She sat in the dark beside him. Eventually Kanan fell into a fitful sleep, and Moira still didn't leave his side. Tentatively, she reached out, smoothing his once-lustrous hair away from his ruined eyes. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "I never meant for this to happen to you. I only wanted to help."

...........................................................................................................................................................................

"Siri, may I have a word with you?" Hera spoke as soon as Moira slipped out of Kanan's cabin, where she had left the wounded Jedi sleeping. Hera's voice was soft, but she couldn't keep the sadness out of her large, expressive green eyes. The alien woman had carried that deep sadness etched into her green face ever since Moira and Ezra had dragged the wounded Jedi back to the base on Atollon. Although they usually behaved professionally in front of the others, Fili was almost certain that Hera and Kanan were more than friends. The affection between them was clear, and they functioned as partners in every sense of the word, caring for this odd family that had come together as its proxy mother and father. If Hera and Kanan weren't lovers, Fili would eat Bofur's hat, their relationship was _that_ obvious. Everyone was suffering from the effects of Kanan's maiming, of course. Moira and Ezra had the additional burden of being racked with guilt about having been unable to prevent it. The way that Hera managed to somehow continue to care for her little family, as well nurture the growing Rebellion as the recently-promoted Phoenix Leader, despite the overwhelming sorrow that pressed down on her as the result of her mate's crippling injury deeply impressed Fili. The woman was a born leader. She was somehow able to inspire hope and loyalty in others with seemingly no effort on her part, and in an arguably near-hopeless cause, too.

The Twi'lek wrapped an arm around Moira's shoulders, gently steering her away from Kanan's door. It was an exact mirror of the way that not long ago, Kanan had led Moira to that same door, when Ahsoka had been meditating within. Those strange head-tails that Hera's race had instead of hair hung down her back, somewhat limply. Oddly, Fili thought he could actually discern something of Hera's mood from their almost-imperceptible movements.

"You and Ezra have both stepped up, taking over the missions, and I want to thank you for that." Hera said as they walked, warmth filling her tone. "That last mission with the Y-Wings could have taken a much worse turn, if it wasn't for you. And the Rebellion sorely needs those ships."

"Of course, Hera. Although, I think Ezra deserves more credit for that than me."

"I'm just glad you managed to bring him home in one piece."

"It was both of us, like I said. We saved each other. I want to make sure that you give him his due."

Hera had guided them to the common room of the _Ghost_ , and she finally removed the arm from Moira's shoulder. She slid into the booth, inviting her to do the same. "It's actually Ezra that I wanted to talk to you about."

"Okay." Moira said cautiously as she slid into place beside her.

"Does he seem … different to you?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Moira seemed unsettled by the question. She immediately rushed to explain her answer. "He's of that age, you know? You remember what it's like to be sixteen years old. Try to imagine all that teenage angst, but with being an orphan, and all the responsibility of being not only a Rebel but also a Jedi, and then add the trauma of facing Vader, and what happened to Kanan and Ahsoka. He'll be fine, eventually. I'm sure of it." She didn't sound sure.

"He's getting increasingly reckless on missions. I've tried talking to him, but he won't listen to me."

"Yeah. I'll admit, the way he Jedi mind-tricked that walker driver into shooting his friends and then walking over the edge of the bridge ... unnerved me. Hera …. I'm afraid he's flirting with something … dark. And with Kanan essentially down for the count …" Moira swallowed and looked away.

"Exactly." Hera nodded, face serious, her head-tails wiggling slightly. "I _know_ Ezra has a good heart, but with everything he's been through ... He's not okay. But he won't even admit it. I know it will take time, of course it will. But he has to _talk_ to us. You may not be a Jedi, but you're the only other Force-sensitive Rebel here. You might be able to understand his struggles better than anyone else could. Do you think you could …"

"Talk to him?" Moira supplied the answer that Hera was obviously fishing for.

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all. Where is he?"

.....................................................................................................................................................................

Moira entered the room that Ezra shared with Zeb without knocking. The person she was looking for was sitting on his bunk, staring down at something he held in his hands. Fili noticed that his hair was different now, cut closer along his skull, so short he didn't even have bangs anymore. The last time Fili had seen the most recent addition to the _Ghost's_ family, the shaggy and unruly blue-black mass had nearly reached the boy's chin, always falling into his eyes. If Ezra had been a Dwarf, the close cut could only symbolize that he was still in mourning over Ahsoka's death and the likely traumatizing encounter with Vader on Malachor. But Fili knew that hair didn't mean the same thing to Men that it did to his folk. He could only guess that Ezra had just wanted to look more like an adult, to reflect the more commanding presence he was taking in the Rebellion during Kanan's recooperation. Still, it was a jarring change. A reminder that the boy was on his way to becoming a man.

"Siri!" He jumped when Moira entered, and immediately tried to hide whatever was in his hand behind his back. "Why didn't you kriffing knock?!"

"What are you - is that what I think it is?!" Her voice took on a high and panicked edge. The sheer fear that she was reacting with made Fili pay sudden attention.

"No!" Ezra protested. "I mean, what do you _think_ it is?"

"That's the _Sith holocron!_ "

"Okay, fine," Ezra drew it from behind his back, and Fili saw that it was indeed the pyramid-shaped device that had powered the Sith superweapon on Malachor. A chilled tendril of terror snaked down his spine when he saw that the very top of the pyramid was glowing red and twisted to the side…. It was activated. Why was Ezra using it?! Moira noticed too. "It's open! Ezra, you have to use the Dark Side of the Force to open this thing!"

"Yeah? So?" Ezra's tone was brazenly defiant, his eyes hard. "I've learned a lot from it!"

"You're using it?!" Moira's voice raised. She snatched the holocron from Ezra's hand. Thankfully, he didn't fight her over it. She shook it a little in his face to emphasize her words. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? You are risking your _soul!_ "

Ezra didn't back down. "I've won one battle after another, and it's because of the lessons in its databanks! Maybe you should use it too! Maybe it would help you get over your fear of yourself!"

Moira's anger suddenly quieted, and she looked defeated. She sat on the bunk across from her young friend, still clutching the Sith artifact in one hand. Ezra had apparently not been prepared for her change in attitude. He had been prepared for a confrontation, for yelling and screaming, but not for her to sit and just … look at him. She ran her hand through her short hair, and her eyes bored into his. He just looked back, his mouth set into a firm, determined line. Finally, Moira spoke. Her voice was quiet, and she sounded exhausted. "Ezra, I understand, believe me, I understand. Anger is a powerful tool. Sometimes, it will keep you alive when nothing else will."

Ezra's eyebrows shot up for a moment, before he hid his surprise and schooled his features back into cautious indifference. "I'm … surprised to hear you admit that."

"Why deny the obvious?" She sighed. "But you need to understand something. This path you are on, it can go nowhere good."

"But you _**just**_ said -"

"There are benefits." Moira cut him off. "I'm not going to lie to you, like many of the adults in your life probably will. Or, maybe they just don't know. Whatever." She shrugged, looking down at the holocron. She turned it over in her hands, examining it from every angle as she spoke slowly and carefully. "Anger has benefits. In the _short_ term. The Dark Side has … an allure. It's … tempting. There's a … freedom. You don't have to struggle with the meaning of morality, with trying to be good. You can just … feel. Do whatever you want. I get it. But there are also consequences. Anger eats you up inside, corrupts your soul. It makes it hard to interact with people, even people you care about. It frays the corners of your mind. If you keep it up for too long, it'll drive you mad. It infects everything you do, distorts the way you see the world, until you respond to even petty annoyances with violence. Things that don't call for it." She looked up and met his eyes again. "And I'm talking about _normal_ people here, not people like you. For someone with your kind of power, it's even worse."

"Us." Ezra's voice was a hiss. "You mean, people like _us_."

Her face fell even more at that. "Do you blame me? For Malachor?"

"No, of course not!" Ezra protested. "I just …." he thought for a moment, and then his expression hardened. "You know what? Yeah, yeah I do. I can't imagine having power and **_not_** using it."

"You think that if I had accepted Kanan's offer, if I had trained, then I could have prevented what happened?"

"Maybe." Ezra shrugged, and his blue eyes glittered with a new intensity. There was something unsettling about it somehow. Hera had been right. Something was … off about the boy. "Maybe not. Maybe it still would've happened. But you can't argue that we wouldn't have had a better chance with another Jedi on our side."

Moira smiled sadly. "But with me, it's a huge risk. If I fell to the Dark Side, I'd be worse than Vader."  
Ezra looked startled at that. "That's impossible!"

She was shaking her head before he had even responded, having anticipated the response. "It's not. I know myself. There's darkness in me, real darkness. I've already done horrible things." She paused for a moment, then plunged ahead. "Ezra, I've _tortured_ people. I'm trying to make up for everything I've done, but it will never be enough. But mastering the Force? … No. No, I shouldn't be trained. It's too dangerous. Sometimes, having power and _not_ using it takes a strength of its own."

For a moment, the dark intensity was gone, and the confused young boy was back. "But if I'm only doing this to protect the people I love, isn't that a _good_ thing?"

"Any motivation can be twisted." Moira explained, and there was the oppressive weight of her many decades of experience to her words. Experience that she couldn't share with Ezra. Fili wasn't sure exactly when in Moira's history this was taking place, but it was after Rahl, _that_ much was plain. "Even love. Even a desire to do good. Being good is a whole lot more complicated and a _lot_ harder than being bad."

Ezra's eyes were drawn back to the holocron in Moira's hand, and there was a thirst in their blue depths that was frightening, and so unlike him. "Are you going to tell Kanan?"

"I don't know." she sighed and looked back to the dark artifact. "I'm …. Not sure that he could handle information like this right now." Moira stood, her voice becoming more decisive. "But I _**am**_ taking this. You shouldn't have access to it right now."

"Fine." The anger was back in Ezra's voice as Moira left. "Take it. I don't need it anymore. I don't need Kanan. And I don't need _you_." The last word was said with a sneer. The pain that flitted across Moira's expression overcame the worry and sorrow, but she didn't respond, and instead just strode from the room.

......................................................................................................................................................................

"How's it coming?" Moira asked as she carefully picked her way down the sand dune, to where Ezra and a one-armed Kanan were carefully sparring with sticks, instead of their lightsabers. It looked like it was slow going, and Fili had no idea how Kanan would be able to safely wield the fiery blade again without losing another limb. Although Moira was right when she had said that he was less blind than any normal person would be in his situation. If Kanan had not been a Jedi, he would be far worse off. Then again, if were not a Jedi, he never would never have been targeted by Vader and the Inquisitors in the first place.

"How did you find us?" Ezra asked as he turned. "We're pretty far from the base."

"I just felt you through the Force." Moira shrugged as she neared the Knight and his Padawan. "And I've known Kanan longer than you. I can sense him anywhere, even more than I can you."

"And you claim not to be a Force-wielder." Kanan's tone was scolding, but a small smile quirked his lips beneath the metal half-mask that now covered his useless eyes.

"I don't _wield_ the Force." Moira protested. "I just sometimes … sense things."

" _ **And**_ have visions." Ezra added, a bit too smugly for Fili's liking. "Why do you fight it? You _are_ one of us."

"Ezra. Siri has chosen her path." Kanan chided his Padawan gently, before turning to her. It unnerved Fili how Kanan seemed to be looking right _at_ Moira, but he obviously couldn't have possibly _seen_ her. It reminded him of the blind Seer who had resided outside of Kattegatt during her Viking life. He could only imagine how awkward it must be for Moira, although perhaps she was just happy to see her friend up and moving again, instead of drowning his sorrows in spice beer and self-pity. "Why did you come out here?"

"Thought you might be hungry." She lifted up the bag in her hand and shook it enticingly. "Cloudberry canapés and Corellian cream puffs." - Fili noticed Ezra's eyes get huge when she described the bag's contents - "Aren't you sick of nutrition bars and quick-meal packs? What'd'ya say Kanan, take a break with your student and your not-student?"

"How'd you get your hands on those?" Kanan asked.

Moira's enticing smile became a little too innocent. "Friendly game of sabacc with some of the other Rebels."

"Doubt they were feeling too friendly when you took _those_ from them." Kanan was fighting it, but there was amusement in his tone and he was starting to smile back.

"That's their problem." Moira was grinning widely now. "You should never bet something you aren't willing to lose."

Kanan scowled suddenly. "Is that a crack about me letting Zeb bet Chopper in the last 'friendly game of sabacc'?"

"Oh, Gods," Moira groaned. "That was two years ago, you can't _STILL_ be mad at Lando!"

"He tried to trade _**Hera**_ , sell her into slavery!"

" _And_ told her how to escape! Plus we stole his fuel in retaliation, so I'd say we got out of that deal okay. Seriously, Kanan, you want the cream puffs or not?"

"Come on, you don't want to push yourself too far yet." Ezra said, a little too eagerly.

"Oh, it's for _my_ benefit you want to take a break." Fili got the distinct sense that Kanan was rolling his sightless eyes under the mask. He threw down his stick. "All right, we'll take a _short_ break."

The trio moved to sit on a large, low rock that was in some of the only shade in this secluded, sandy gully. The suns beat down on the little group anyway, just … less directly. So far Fili was not a fan of desert worlds. The dry air and sand that blew in his face whenever he opened a door to such a memory had quickly worn away the novelty of seeing such interesting and previously unknown sights.

Ezra perched next to Moira, and he nearly bounced on his hands in excitement. Kanan moved slower, his hand (his only hand, now) out in front of him and parallel to the ground, but he seemed to be confident in moving around now. He had learned to see through the Force, apparently, but Fili still couldn't imagine him fighting both blind _and_ one-armed. One, maybe. But both? That seemed like a difficult task, even for a Jedi. And Fili had gathered that Kanan had been only half-trained, thanks to the Jedi Order being massacred when he was still a student himself. The very first crime of this Empire they were now fighting.

"There's only two canapés?" Ezra sounded disappointed when Moira unpacked the bag.

"That's okay, I'll just take the cream puffs." Kanan said as he sat beside his student. When Moira passed out the food, Fili could see why. The pastries the Jedi had been given were easy to eat one handed. Ezra and Moira balanced the already-plated meal on their laps, and ate the canapés was a fork and knife, which obviously would have been harder for him. Ezra made appreciative noises as he bit into his food. Fili imagined that being a guerrilla fighter against a tyrannical government didn't allow for many gourmet meals. After a few moments, Ezra began to chatter about something or other - the boy couldn't shut up to save his life. He seemed … normal again. Maybe taking the Sith holocron from him had undone the vile object's influence on him. Fili could only hope that his flirtation with the "Dark Side" of this Force would have no lasting effects on him. But he knew that was unlikely. He had already figured out that he was observing Moira's worst memories, after all. Which meant that this relative peace she had managed to carve out during a galaxy-wide civil war was not likely to last long.

....................................................................................................................................................................

"Ezra, this could get bad." Fili was surprised to hear _Moira's_ voice come from the white Stormtrooper armor as she and the other similarly-suited figure raced down the gray metal hallway. Hot on their heels was that 'astromech' droid with the bad attitude that usually accompanied Moira's crew. Its name was apparently a series of letters and numbers, but the humans and humanoids that surrounded it - him? - called him Chopper. Chopper had a red and black paint job this time, another indication that they were undercover. Some time must have passed since the encounter on Malachor; the disguised Ezra was several inches taller than Moira now. The pair of them were still smaller than your average soldier of the Empire, and Fili was surprised that that alone didn't give them away during their various undercover missions.

They both skidded to a stop in front of a lift, one of them pounding on the 'open' button as the other aimed down the hallway at their pursuers, preparing to fire if need be, but clearly not _wanting_ to. Fili felt cold when the mechanical door slid open to reveal Agent Kallus standing in the lift. The same man who had stood by and watched as the first Inquisitor Fili had seen tortured Moira for information about her friends. The two 'Stormtroopers' looked at each other, but Fili could not see their expressions behind the helmets.

"You two, come with me and secure the perimeter," Agent Kallus commanded them. The disguised Moira and Ezra had no choice but to obey, turning their backs to him as they faced the door, weapons at the ready. The door slid shut with a hiss, trapping them in with the Imperial Agent.

A smirk lifted one side of his mouth, and his smooth baritone belted out, "Don't move, Rebels."

There was a pause, before Moira's elbow collided with Kallus' chest. There was a brief, three-way scuffle in the tight confines of the lift, before Moira had the much larger man pinned with an arm across his chest. Fili had the sneaking suspicion that the Imperial Agent wasn't really trying to hurt them, which made no sense. "Listen to me," he sounded like he was _begging_. "I'm Fulcrum."

"Ha! Yeah right!" Ezra laughed.

"And I'm the Queen of England!" The reference, which was nonsensical in this reality, slipped past Moira's lips before she could stop it.

"What's England?" Kallus asked, looking confused, before just ignoring his own question and saying, "By the light of Lothal's moons."

Both Moira and Ezra lifted the face-shields of their stolen Stormtrooper helmets. "The code phrase," Ezra gasped.

"You're the spy?" Moira squinted, and her eyes had a calculating cast to them.

"I have to say, I'm surprised to see that Kanan isn't here," Kallus commented.

Ezra emitted a wordless snarl.

"So it's true, then." There was a heaviness to his words. Kallus' light brown eyes, so light they were almost golden, looked haunted. "About his wounding in the encounter with Vader. I'm sorry." He actually sounded genuinely apologetic.

Quicker than Fili could process, Ezra was holding his ignited lightsaber a fraction of a inch from Kallus' neck, the glow lighting the small space with a green cast. Kallus didn't even try to appeal to Ezra in that moment. There was too much anger in the boy's eyes. The Imperial Agent - or was he a Rebel spy, now? - didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle, but his eyes met Moira's. "Siri, you and Garrazeb trusted me on that ice moon."

"Yeah, but that was kind of an 'Enemy Mine' survival situation." Despite her denial, Moira looked like she was considering Kallus' words. Like she was testing him. "It's not like any of us wanted to freeze to death, or be eaten by those creatures."

"I also saved Sabine Wren at the Flight Academy." There was an undeniable frustration on his face. This was a man who was used to being in control, and didn't know how to handle it when he wasn't. "And I'm trying to save you two _idiots_ now!"

"Insulting the person with a lightsaber at your throat is probably not the smartest idea," Ezra commented coldly.

Chopper made a series of mechanical beeps and chirps.

"Your droid trusts me!" Kallus protested.

"Yeah, that's not a good thing," Ezra snarked.

Moira's grip on the Agent loosened slightly. "Listen, Ezra," she started.

" _Don't_ say we should trust him! He's hunted us for years! Just let me kill -"

"You see another way out of this factory?" she shot back.

Reluctantly, the young Jedi powered down his lightsaber, but he still scowled in the apparent double agent's direction.

"We need to get a signal to our friends," Moira said as she finally released Kallus, still watching him distrustfully.

Kallus thought for a moment, then nodded. "We'll have to move quickly."

........................................................................................................................................................................

Kallus ran backwards into the control room, firing his blaster in Moira and Ezra's general direction, but conveniently not coming close to hitting either of them. "Watch out!" he called to the room's occupants. "They're Rebels!"

Moira came in firing, taking out the lone officer and one of the troopers as she did so. Ezra used his Force-powers to fling both Kallus and the other two troopers across the room. Moira shot the downed Stormtroopers - the blue beam, instead of red, was only a 'stun' setting, Fili had learned previously.

Kallus groaned, holding his head where he had hit it against the 'durasteel' console. "Could have warned me you were going to do that," he commented as Chopper rolled up next to him.

"Where's the fun in that?" Ezra joked flippantly.

"Your droid can open the commlink from this port. I'll provide the access codes."

Chopper made a pleased-sounding _whirr_ as one of his many small, hidden appendages revealed itself and connected with a hole in the side of the console - a 'dataport'. Fili was constantly surprised by how emotive the faceless metal creature that spoke in chirps and beeps could be.

"He doesn't need them?" Kallus' eyebrows raised in surprise as he stood. "This C1 of yours is quite efficient."

"Uh, thank you?" Moira said, clearly not sure how to take a compliment from someone she was used to thinking of as an enemy.

"Figures Chop'd get along with an Imperial spy," Ezra sneered, shaking his still-helmeted head as he deactivated his lightsaber.

A few moments later, when Chopper gave a quicker, cheerful sounding chirp, Moira lifted her commlink. "Ryder, it's Siri. You there?"

"Closer than you think," a voice came through. "We're about to hit the east gate, give you a chance to escape. You'll need to move if you want to make it out."

"We will. And thanks."

Kallus, who had been listening during the conversation, nodded as Moira and Ezra turned to leave. "Make for the east vehicle pool. You'll find a walker there you can escape in. Now," he took in his surroundings ruefully. "I just have to make all _this_ look convincing."

"Okay." Ezra raised his hand and Force-pushed Kallus through the glass display at the center of the control room. He yelped in a distinctly undignified way as he flew backwards. The shattered shards of glass turned the room into even more of a disaster than it already was.

"Ezra!" Moira shrieked.

"What?!" he demanded. "THAT is convincing!"

"Yeah, but you could have let me get in a punch or two!"

"Well, if he's one of us now, you'll get your chance." Moira and Ezra beat a hasty retreat, leaving a groaning, battered Kallus shaking his head among the shattered glass of the broken display of the factory's control room.

.....................................................................................................................................................................

Fili recognized the commissary of the _Ghost_ , but it was packed with what appeared to be the survivors of a battle. Wounded soldiers were scattered everywhere, some of them slumped against the metal walls and sitting on the floor because the various chairs and cots were full. The weary aura of defeat and despair hung over the scene. Walking among the soldiers was Kanan, navigating the crowds as if he wasn't blind at all, and from the ragged look of him, he had fought as well. So he had somehow learned to function and fight with only one arm, and no sight. Fili shook his head. He couldn't possibly be as good as he used to be, but nevertheless, that was … impressive.

Slumped against one of the walls, still wearing an Imperial uniform, was former Imperial Agent Kallus, now the Rebel spy Fulcrum, beaten, battered, bloody, hair in disarray, looking exhausted. His betrayal of the Empire had been discovered, then. Apparently, he had somehow managed to escape. Fili got the impression that didn't happen often.

Kallus was so lost in this thoughts that he didn't notice when Moira walked up beside him. "Have you been looked at yet?"

He blinked up at her, then shook his head slowly. "There were others in need of more immediate treatment."

Moira nodded decisively. "Come with me, then." She offered her hand to him. When he took too long to consider, she shook her hand insistently. After another heartbeat, Kallus took her offered hand. The ex-Imperial grunted in pain when he pulled himself up, staggering slightly. Moira seemed willing to support his weight, but his pride wouldn't allow him to rely on her. So after waiting for him to steady himself, she lead him into a small room which appeared to be a supply closet. There was a cot jammed into one corner, among dusty crates and piles of forgotten parts.

Now that they were alone, Kallus leaned against the wall. He was obviously more wounded than he wanted to let on.

"Take your shirt off."

When Kallus looked like he was slightly concerned about the demand, Moira raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I brought you back here to get my revenge on you?"

"The thought had occurred to me." Kallus' arms were crossed across his chest. He licked his lips, a small move that betrayed his nervousness. He didn't look calm and collected like he normally did, although he was controlling his apprehension better than some in his position might have.

"Even if I was so inclined, which I'm not, Hera would have my head. She offered you sanctuary on her ship, and she takes that seriously." Moira waved her hands as she went to open one of the compartments that slid open with the touch of a button, pulling out a bag that Fili assumed had medical supplies in it. "Relax, I'm trained in battlefield medicine. Although, the medicine I was trained in was a little more primitive."

"So, you _do_ come from a less advanced world."

"Are you profiling me, Agent Kallus?" Moira sounded slightly playful.

"Force of habit." The blond gave Moira a small smile, one that seemed like it could make females of all species melt - and therefore provide more information for the security agent. "You were always the most confusing member of this ragtag little team. A more than capable fighter, but not exactly mechanically gifted." And a slightly-backhanded compliment. Well done.

Moira just smiled mysteriously. "Off with the shirt."

Kallus obeyed this time. He moved slowly, jerkily, and when the article of clothing finally was removed, Fili saw why. His entire torso was mottled with deep black, blue, and purple bruising. There was hardly any skin unmarred. Moira sucked in a breath, her eyes glued to the ugly sight.

"Trawn doesn't take kindly to traitors." Kallus seemed compelled to offer an explanation.

"Sit down on the cot," Moira commanded, more gently this time.

When the much larger man obeyed, Moira sat beside him, scooting close. "I'm going to feel your ribs, and see if any are broken, before I apply the bacta patches, okay?"

Kallus nodded, focusing on the wall instead of on her, as her hands began to work their way up and down his sides. "You're probably wondering about your place with us now," she said as she worked. Kallus' face betrayed no emotion. "You won't be the first Imperial defector we've folded into our ranks. But…" She chewed her lip a little. "You _are_ the first Agent from the Imperial Security Bureau." Moira took a deep breath. "I'm not going to lie. The transition might be difficult."

"I expect no less. I spent my life snuffing out disloyalty to the Empire."

"Well, you aren't that person anymore." Moira finished her examination and turned to the bag of supplies. "You're very lucky. It doesn't appear you broke any ribs, but some of them could be cracked. When we meet up with the rest of the fleet, you'll need a more thorough examination, with a real doctor."

Kallus nodded, and hissed a little as she began to apply those "bacta patches" to the worst areas of bruising on his ribs.

"You'll also have to talk to Mon Mothma and Bail Organa," she said as she pulled out a jar of salve and started to apply it to the various cuts on Kallus' face.

"So the good Senator from Alderaan _is_ involved with the Rebellion. I suspected as much, but could never prove it."

"He's too good, I guess." Moira paused in applying the salve to Kallus' face. Their faces were almost uncomfortably close. "Don't worry, I'll vouch for you. So will Zeb."

"Why would you do that?" Kallus didn't try to control the confusion evident on his face or in his tone. Or maybe his emotion overwhelmed his normal control. "I tor- interrogated you."

"You can call it what it is. You tortured me." Moira's voice was unbearably soft, and her eyes slid away from his as she drew back and replaced the lid on the jar of salve. "And I forgive you. I'll still vouch for you with my superiors."

" _Why?_ " Shocked did not describe the expression on the former Agent's face. Fili had a feeling that Kallus considered himself just as expendable as Moira usually did herself. They were both strong, warriors willing to die for their chosen cause, yet … broken. "I understand that I was useful, when I was still an ISB officer. But why do you go out of your way for me? Why did you get yourself captured when you thought I had been compromised? Just… _why?_ "

Moira looked away, busying herself with putting the unused 'bacta patches' back into the med-bag. "Because," she said softly. "I've done terrible things, too. Nothing can erase the bad I did, the people I hurt, the people I -" she swallowed, didn't finish the sentence. When Moira raised her eyes to meet Kallus', they were shimmering. "I'm with the Rebellion to try to do some good. I wasn't with the Empire, but … I've been _exactly_ where you are."

Silence reigned between them for a heavy, pregnant moment.

"What about Bridger?"

"Ezra doesn't like you, but even he can't deny how helpful you've been."

"I won't be anymore, without my position." He sighed heavily, and it seemed to Fili that he had lost the entirety of his identity in the battle; first as an Imperial Agent, and then as a spy. He was neither now. "The Rebellion's best bet is to get rid of me now that I can't provide you with any more information."

Moira looked absolutely appalled. "We aren't the Empire. We don't think like that."

"Saw Gerrera - "

"Saw Gerrera is an extremist," Moira responded hotly. "He kills _civilians_. His methods are so violent that we've been forced to cut ties with him!" Then she quieted suddenly, as if remembering something important. "I really am sorry about your first unit." Their eyes met briefly, and the pain in Kallus' was so unmistakable, so palpable, that they were forced to quickly break away. Moira stood, clearly uncomfortable with the intimacy, and strode towards the door of the small room, chattering as she went. "I'll be back with a shirt for you. You can't keep walking around in that uniform. You're larger than Kanan, but I think Rex's clothes should fit you. That good with you, Kallus?"

"Alexsandr." The one quiet word made her stop at the door and turn back, a confused expression on her face.

"What?" she oh-so-eloquently responded.

"Did you think my first name was Agent?" Kallus drawled with a note of humor in his voice.

Moira shrugged. "Ezra says it is."

He arched one eyebrow at that. "And am I a frequent topic of conversation on the _Ghost_?"

The corner of Moira's lips twitched, telling Fili she was trying to suppress a smile. "You have been hunting us for three years. It's come up a few times." Moira made an exaggerated show of being deep in thought. "I don't like that name, it doesn't suit you. I'm gonna call you Kal."

"Do I get a say in this?"

"No." She fixed him with a mock-glare. "You _did_ torture me. You're lucky I'm not calling you a long string of curse-words in various languages. And I know quite a few."

The now-fugitive ex-Imperial Agent chuckled and laid back in the cot. "Fair enough."

..........................................................................................................................................................................

"Kal, you're still awake?" Moira sounded surprised as she walked into the large mess hall at the new Rebel base on Yavin 4, and found the blond man as its only occupant. He was bent over his table, which was strewn with those metal sheets, 'datapads', that were even smaller and more powerful computers than the ones from Moira's world.

"This mission plan still needs to be worked out." Kallus looked up at her with slightly red-rimmed eyes as she approached, and Fili noticed now that his hair was longer than he had ever seen it. Instead of being combed tightly along his skull, it flopped alongside the sides of his face and almost fell into his eyes. The stubble on his chin, emanating from the large, distinctive sideburns, showed he hadn't shaved in a few days. _Definitely_ not Imperial regulation. He also wore the earth tones favored by most of the Yavin base personnel.

"Uh, the mission plan _has_ been worked out."

"Not to my satisfaction." Kallus tried to ignore her as he picked up a datapad and stared at it hard, as if the facts on it would change and it was going to reveal something new if he wrestled it into submission with his will alone.

"That's just nerves," Moira said as she slid into the booth beside him. "You gotta relax before something like this."

"I am not nervous," Kallus declared, straightening up and giving her a hard look. "I have been in charge of countless missions and engagements, and involved in even more before I was recruited into the ISB."

"You sure?" Moira looked doubtful, but her voice was gentle. "This will be your first mission as an official Rebel."

"I was Fulcrum for over a year. I've been a Rebel for some time now."

"Yes, but this is different. It's been a few months since Atollon, and you've helped set up the base here, given us intel, up-to-date codes, directed training in hand-to-hand combat for the younger recruits. But tomorrow … tomorrow, you're going to blow up a factory. You used to consider that terrorism. This has to be … confusing for you. It's an adjustment, at the very least."

Kallus looked at her quizzically, his eyes somewhat guarded, as if trying to puzzle something out.

"I'm not testing your loyalties, if that's what you're thinking," she added after a moment. "That would only be natural, if you were feeling that way, and well … you shouldn't be ashamed of that."

The mask dropped a little at her blatant acceptance, and he just looked …. weary. "I-I had no intention of sharing those thoughts with anyone. Especially considering Captain Andor's feelings about me."

"Cassian was orphaned by the Empire when he was six. He's been in the same battle his entire life. Your battle is different. But you gotta know that you have friends you can turn to now. And," Moira placed her hand on the stiff ex-agent's shoulder as she spoke. Kallus' eyes flicked to her hand before refocusing on her face. He was clearly not used to being touched. "I promise I'd keep anything you tell me in confidence. Y'know, if you ever need to talk.."

"Thank you, Siri." With the relief and gratefulness on his face, you'd almost think she had just volunteered to take his place in front of a firing squad, Fili thought. Kindness was apparently not a valued trait in the Imperial ranks. "I … just knowing you'd listen, it helps."

He reached for a cup then, moving to lift it to his lips. But Moira snatched it away from him before he could drink whatever was inside. "No," she declared. "No more caf. It's not good for you. It's making you jittery."

"I am not jittery!" he protested. "I am in complete control!"

"Oh, THAT'S what bothers you," Moira muttered as she rolled her eyes. She put the cup on the booth beside her, opposite the side where her unlikely companion was sitting, and out of his reach. Ezra would have dived after the 'caf' if she had tried something like that. From what Fili knew of Kallus' personality, he would likely consider a display like that too undignified.

"How's the pain in the leg?" Moira asked instead, changing the subject.

"Fine," he grunted. When she glared at him, he sighed. "It hurts, but it's much better. Nothing I can't handle, I swear. Do you mother everyone on the _Ghost?_ " Kallus added. "I thought that was Hera's job."

"Well, mom's out on an extended mission with Phoenix Squadron, and Kanan is helping the other kids on Mandalore." Moira sounded immensely amused. "Guess that leaves the job to me."

"Wait, I'm one of the _kids_ in this ridiculous scenario?"

Moira grinned at him. "Well, you're staying up too late and refusing to go to bed, so … yeah." When the ex-Imperial glared at her, Moira changed her tactics. "You won't be of use to the Rebellion if you collapse of sleep exhaustion, you know. The Empire may expect you to work like a machine, but we don't. And considering it's **_my_** back you're gonna be watching tomorrow, if you won't get some rest for your own sake, will you do it for me?"

That argument seemed to have broken through Kallus' resistance. His eyes softened, and his lips quirked upwards in what Fili now knew was a rare smile for the serious-minded man. "I suppose," he conceded. But then he turned back to his datapads. "Just 10 more minutes. I'd rather be tired than have another disaster like Atollon."

Moira looked stunned at that comment. It took her a moment to respond, and when she did, her voice was soft. "Kal, what happened at Atollon … you know that's not your fault, right?"

"Thank you for what you're trying to do, Siri," Kallus looked up and met her eyes. "But Atollon is _entirely_ my fault."

"No, it's not!" Frustration slipped into Moira's previously gentle tone. Fili almost wanted to laugh, because lately he'd been the one making such arguments to her. "It's the _Empire's_. Thrawn's. Emperor Palpatine's. _**Not**_ yours."

"It is my fault," Kallus insisted. "He found your base because of me. Thrawn, he …." Kallus choked up, and his eyes slid away from hers. Moira reached out to squeeze his shoulder in encouragement, and that seemed to help him regain some control. He still wouldn't meet her eyes, though. "He's known I was Fulcrum since I helped you escape. He figured it out, but used me to feed the Rebels false intel. But that day, he … he made sure I heard his 'secret meeting'. I went to the tower to send you a message, to warn you all that he knew about the attack on Lothal, to tell you not to go through with it. But he was there. He waited for me to open the commline before attacking. I tried to fight him, but …." Kallus swallowed before continuing. "He traced the transmission. He cross-referenced the trajectory of General Dodonna's fleet with where my signal was headed. That's how he found your base. All those deaths, they're on _**my head**_."

As absurd as it was, considering what he had already seen him do, Fili's heart went to the ex-agent. He was clearly ridden with guilt for his actions when he still believed in the justness of the Empire, before he saw its tyranny for what it was. Now he was trying to shoulder the weight of the entire Rebellion, as if its success or failure was riding on him and him alone.

"Oh, Kal…" Moira's hand was back on his shoulder again. "Thrawn took advantage of your natural reactions, your emotions as a living, feeling being. You can't carry the blame for this. He's a military genius."

"I know, that's why we have to be better. _**I**_ have to be better."

"Kal -"

"He made me watch," he interrupted. Kallus' brown eyes were unfocused. He was staring straight ahead, not at anything in particular. "I was on the bridge, during the battle. Restrained by troopers, of course. Thrawn wanted me to watch the fleet be destroyed. He wanted me to know that it was all because of _me_."

Moira reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Alexsandr Kallus," she said sternly. "That was _not_ your fault. I'm truly sorry for what Thrawn did to you, and I'm sorry you had to watch it, but you cannot blame yourself. This is war, real _war_. I've fought wars before. And let me tell you, we _are_ going to lose some battles, and as hard as that is to face, losing battles usually means losing lives. But we can't lose too much sleep beating ourselves up more than the enemy does. We have to keep fighting, and we need to take care of ourselves to be in fighting shape. Gotta keep our eyes on the prize. We have to think big, not for one planet or one battle. Do you understand?"

After staring into her eyes for a moment, Kallus silently nodded his head. Her hand was still cupping his chin, and they both gazed at each other for a long moment. Moira seemed to realize what an intimate position they were in, because she released his chin, looking a little awkward as she drew back. "Okay then. I'm walking you back to your room to make sure you really do go to sleep and you don't pass out here again. And I'm not above asking Zeb to check on you in the middle of the night, so you better stay put, unless you want an angry Lasat dragging you back to your bunk."

This time when Kallus smiled, the smile spread across his entire face, uncharacteristically wide. There was even a small sparkle that reached his eyes. His voice sounded lighter, but still had a sarcastic bite to it when he drawled, "If Thrawn taught me anything, it's when to know I've been outmaneuvered."

..........................................................................................................................................................................

Fili now recognized the rougher cadence of Cassian's voice as signifying that he came from one of the Outer Rim worlds, as opposed to Kallus' more polished, aristocratic Coruscanti accent. Most of the Rebels had been born on the Outer Rim, while most Imperials were from the Core Worlds. Their different early experiences had directed their paths in life. Kallus had been raised in the heart of the Empire, at its capital. He would naturally see the Empire as the source of peace and justice in the galaxy, and never had experienced the injustice and cruelty that was standard policy on the Outer Rim worlds. He was a Rebel now, and his skills and his deep knowledge of Imperial protocol had lead to a grudging acceptance with most of them. But besides the _Ghost_ crew, and some of the Rebellion's higher-ups, most of them still considered Kallus something of an outsider. As soon as Kallus opened his mouth, he was designated as _other_ , an appellation he bore with quiet dignity.

Right now, Cassian's rough voice was raised as he yelled at Moira. And he was yelling about Kallus. "I'm just saying -"

"I know what you're saying, and I'm not going to listen to it!" Moira hollered back. Her fists were clenched tightly at her sides, and she was nearly shaking. "He's one of **_us_** now, and he's risked more than we ever have! Do you know what the Empire _does_ to traitors?!"

"Are you kidding me?" Fili swore that Cassian's voice somehow got even louder, and his dark eyes glittered like chips of hard obsidian. "Do you know the things he's done?! The massacre at Lasan _alone_ -"

"Is his greatest regret!" Moira's face was starting to get red as she yelled. Fili was certain that the news of this fight was going to spread through the base like wildfire. Neither of them were even attempting to remain quiet. "He was practically _raised_ by the Empire, Cassian! What the kriff would you expect?! If _Zeb_ can forgive him for nearly wiping out his people, then what the hell is _your_ problem? Zeb has more reason to hate Kal then ANYONE, and he doesn't!"

"Kal!" Cassian threw his hands up in the air, his fury compounding at the nickname. "Kriff, Siri! He's _Agent Kallus_. He's an Imp! He'll always be an Imp."

Moira's fist collided with Cassian's jaw. The sound of the _crack_ echoed through the room, and he just stared at her, shocked.

"Nobody talks about my friends that way." Moira hissed, before she spun on her heel and grabbed the jacket she had discarded on a chair when she had entered Cassian's bedroom. He grabbed her arm as she strode purposely towards the door. "Siri-"

"No. We're done." Her voice was cold now, icy compared to the hot rage just a moment before, and it shocked the other Rebel enough that he just released her. She slammed the door to Cassian Andor's quarters as she left, loud enough to make anyone passing in the hall jump. She stormed through the base, the deadly rage radiating off of her enough to make anyone who was wise leap out her way. Fili frowned when she actually _kicked_ an astromech droid out of her path when it moved too slowly, an uncharacteristic display of cruelty to the subservient creatures. Fili wondered if Moira even realized why she was so angry about Cassian's refusal to fully accept Kallus. It was obvious to him that something had been simmering between them for a while, but neither Moira nor the newly-minted Rebel were entirely confident enough to act on it. Moira seemed to be in deep denial about her own feelings. But Fili knew her. He had known her even before his crazy journey into her past, and now he understood her even better. Fili could see her falling for the ex-Imperial, as much as she protested that they were "just friends" when someone tried to insinuate as much.

She stormed into Yavin Base's mess hall, scattering a few small groups of errant Rebels as she went. At this late hour, the hall was mostly empty, and her fearsome attitude and clear rage dispensed the rest. She marched to the wall where the extra quick-pack meals were stored. Nearby, an older human male with slightly graying red hair was sitting with one arm slung over the back of the booth causally. His sharp blue eyes watched every movement she made with the evaluation and alertness of a soldier. His clear amusement and lack of fear at Moira's anger would have told Fili that he was Mandalorian, even if he hadn't been wearing his clan armor, sans helmet.

"Siri Starscream." He called a greeting to her with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a raised glass.

"Fenn Rau." she glared at him for daring to speak to her, and the fire leaping from her dark eyes would have been enough to frighten anyone who wasn't Mandalorian into scurrying into the nearest hole. As it was, Rau just quirked his lips into the barest hint of a smile. "Would you like some tiharr?"

"Is that alcoholic?"

"Very."

She marched over to where he sat, roughly yanked the bottle he was offering out his hand, and, still standing, proceeded to gulp down a good one-fourth of its contents in one go. When she sat the bottle down with a hard _clank_ , his smile had widened. "You know, I've always respected you. You're _almost_ Mandalorian."

"I prefer to think that Mandalorians are almost Viking."

Rau threw back his head and laughed, loud, deep, and rumbling. Some of the anger drained away from Moira, and she eyed the older man for a moment. He stared back unblinkingly, utterly unphased by her open evaluation. Finally she spoke. "I really need to kill something, but I've been trapped on this base without a mission for weeks. You wanna spar? I could use a good sparring session."

Rau seemed pleased at the proposal, and he smirked up at Moira, who was still standing over him, arms crossed. "You sure you can handle a Mandalorian?"

"I've sparred with Sabine many times." Moira shrugged as she said that.

"She's young. She doesn't have _half_ my experience." Why did Fili get the feeling they weren't talking about fighting?

"She beat you in a blood duel." Moira retorted.

That drew a chuckle from Rau. "That she did, although technically she and Jarrus used trickery. Luckily for me, she's not your typical Mandalorian, or I'd be dead."

"Lucky for you, and the Rebellion. Your Protectors have been a valuable ally. Is that enough small talk? I need to hit something."

Rau chuckled again as he stood, sweeping an arm wide. "This way to the training grounds, Lady Starscream."

.........................................................................................................................................................................

"I heard that you and Captain Andor broke up." A soft voice interrupted Moira as she dug through the cupboards of the _Ghost_ 's galley.

Moira sighed and crossed her arms as she turned and leaned against the small galley's counter. "Does the whole base know?"

Kallus came to stand beside her, mirroring her body language as he also leaned against the counter, his long fingers curling around the edge. Fili noticed a slight tenseness in his muscles, a subtle twitching in his fingers, small signs of nervousness. Kallus was watching Moira intently, but still a respectful distance from her. "We're at war. The only things we have to talk about are who just died horribly, and who's kriffing who."

"Good point." Moira shrugged. "Technically there was never anything to break up. We were never serious. It was just … stress relief. But let me guess, the Yavin Base Rumor Mill has made it into some epic, tragic romance?"

"Something like that." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile, and his brown eyes filled with affection when he looked at Moira. "May I ask what the argument was about? The one half the base heard?"

"If half the base heard it, than why do I need to tell you?"

"I'd rather hear it from you. The rumor mill and all that."

"Fine." Moira shrugged. "He wouldn't stop bad-mouthing you."

Kallus' eyebrows shot up, and he sounded incredulous. "You … you broke up with him because of _me?_ "

" _No._ " Moira said it a little too forcefully. "There was nothing to break up in the first place. I don't do relationships. But yes, I stopped our …" she coughed awkwardly and looked away from Kallus' shocked and, Fili thought, slightly hopeful face. "...Our stress relief activities because of his attitude about one of my closest friends. Loyalty is everything to me."

Kallus chuckled and shook his head. "You know, there are times you sound almost Mandalorian."

"I've been told that." They gazed at each other for just a little too long. Seeming to make a decision at last, Kallus reached over and gently took her hand. "Siri, I've been wondering -"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off when Sabine marched into the galley, making a beeline for the caf dispenser. "So Siri, I hear you're knocking boots with Fenn Rau." she declared cheerfully.

Fili groaned and Kallus dropped Moira's hand as if he'd been burned. "Fenn Rau."

Moira looked up at Kallus with something like embarrassment and apprehension. "It was just once."

"Twice, I hear." Sabine smirked as she filled her cup.

"Sabine!" Moira snapped as her face flamed as red as Rau's hair.

"Well, you aren't exactly _quiet_. Pretty sure you shook the walls when you came." The Mandalorian girl seemed completely oblivious to the stricken look on Kallus' face. Moira was not. "Kal -"

"No, it's alright." Kallus backed up quickly towards the door, the trained mask of Imperial indifference sliding over his features. "You don't 'do' relationships. Your personal life is none of business, clearly." He was out the door before Moira could say anything, and she stared at the door in clear longing for a few moments.

"Right, you two are just friends," Fili said sarcastically, knowing that no one could hear him.

"Did I say something wrong?" Sabine asked, looking a little confused.

Moira rolled her eyes. "Fucking Mandalorians."

..........................................................................................................................................................................

Moira was not dealing with her feelings well. She never did, honestly. But she hadn't been taking Kanan's death well, and then Ezra …. Ezra. Ezra had lost it. The darkness he had experimented with using the Sith holocron years ago had come back in full force. He had fallen to the Dark Side, and he now was on a bloody rampage of revenge. And he didn't care who got in his way.

Her family was fractured now. She buried herself in her work (when she was trusted with a mission - her instability hadn't gone unnoticed by her superiors). She was avoiding what was left of the _Ghost_ crew, having indiscriminate sex, and drinking. So much drinking. Enough to make even Fili, Dwarf that he was, wince. Right now, she was sitting on a somewhat dangerous-looking outcrop off the abandoned Massassi temple than had been converted into the Rebel Base, drinking Mandalorian liquor and … singing. Badly.

_Steel to my trembling lips, How did the night ever get like this?_

__

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_One shot and the whiskey goes down, down, down_ (She took a substantial gulp from her bottle after singing that line)

 _Bottom of the bottle hits,_ (another gulp) ... _something something as I throw a fit_

__

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_The breaking is taking me down, down, down_

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_My heart's beating faster, I know what I'm after_

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_I've been standing here my whole life_

__

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_Something something, pretty sure I'm getting this wrong wrong,_

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_I don't remember it alllll, spinning around now, on this road I'm crawling_

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_Save me cuz I'm falling, now I can't seem to breathe right_

__

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_Cause I keep running, running, running, running_

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_Running, running, running, running_

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_Running from my heart_

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_I can't remember the rest of the words, but it don't matter_

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_Cuz I keep running, running, running, running_

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_Running from myself!_

"Maybe you can't remember the words because you're drunk." Kallus' voice broke into her insane giggling.

"Can't take the spy out of the Rebel, huh?" She scowled up at him when he stepped out of the shadows. "I can't remember the words because its too long since I heard my own songs and I'm the only one who knows them. Hey, heard you got promoted, _Major_ Kallus. Sorry I couldn't make it to the ceremony, but I had a prior engagement. I was on a mission."

"No, you were too drunk to attend." He drawled, but there was no hint of offense in his voice. "I _am_ an Intelligence officer. I know about all the missions that leave this base."

"Right. Yes, Sir." She gave him a very sloppy salute. She was so drunk that her fingers hit her nose. It was so bad that Fili cringed in embarrassment on her behalf. "Good job. I never could make it past Lieutenant."

"If you make a habit of behavior like this, I can see why." He responded dryly.

"Ah, that's that snappy wit I love so much." She shook her bottle at him at little. "And that Imperial professionalism! Who knew those traits would get you so far here?"

"I miss him too, Siri."

"I'm not talking about that." she said harshly, before taking another gulp of her drink. She grimaced, and then put on a falsely bright smile. "Well, _Major_ , why don't you cut loose for a once, and drink with one of your troops? You want some tiharr?"

Kallus was still standing over her, his arms crossed over his chest. While he didn't stand as stiffly as he used to, as if eternally at attention, there was still a faint echo of 'IMPERIAL' stamped onto his stance, a somewhat softened march to the rhythm of his steps. It wasn't completely unusual. There were others around Yavin 4 Base who Fili had observed that carried themselves similarly, other defectors. The lifetime of training and deeply-ingrained habits pounded into them by the Empire were not easy to discard. But as one of the highest-ranking Imperial officers before his defection, and a professional Rebel-hunter besides, Kallus still wasn't exactly popular.

"Isn't that a Mandalorian drink?" he asked, face and voice carefully devoid of expression and inflection of any kind.

"Yeah." The sudden anger in Moira's eyes and the hardness in her voice was a plain challenge. "And yes, Fenn gave it to me. Problem with that?"

Kallus cocked a blond eyebrow at her use of the Commander of the Protectors' first name. "So it's Fenn now, not Rau?"

"You gonna give me a lecture about discretion and my supposed 'promiscuity'?" Moira snapped. "If so you can leave, because Senator Organa already beat you to it."

"That sounds … awkward." He commented as he lowered himself to sit on the stone precipice beside her.

"The good Senator is plenty happy to assign me the impossible task of controlling the Mandalorians left behind when Fenn and Sabine are out on a mission, but then he makes snide comments like 'just don't do it by sleeping with half of them'."

Kallus winced in sympathy as she passed him the bottle. "Ouch."

"He should be happy it was just a couple of fist-fights last time." Moira fumed. "Normally there would have been a few stabbings, possibly some honor duels. You leave a Mandalorian out of battle at your own peril. Plus the idiot stuck the Protectors and Deathwatch not only on the same base, but in the same _barracks!_ Yes they're allies against the Empire now, but _still._ "

"Plenty of time for old hatreds to flare up." Kallus agreed. "You've done a wonderful job of managing their … less agreeable traits."

"Don't say that in front of one of 'em. They don't like the idea of being managed."

"No." He laughed quietly. "Of course, I don't interact with them nearly as much as you."

Moira gave him the side-eye, as if trying to work out if he was insulting her, but he just gazed back. Eventually she looked away, swallowing awkwardly. "Well, more of the credit should really go to Sabine. Fenn, too, but mostly Sabine."

Kallus nodded. "She's balanced her duties to her clan and her people with that of the Rebellion admirably. Had things been different, I'm sure she would have been an excellent ruler. Her people would be lucky to have to have her as Mand'alor." With that he handed the bottle back to Moira. "It's sweeter than I expected."

"It's no honey mead, but it's made from fruit, so." She shrugged, and took another swig.

"Why DO you like the Mandos so much?" He asked softly. "I'm not judging you. Just trying to understand. They're so … volatile."

"And I'm not?" she shot back.

"Good point." he chuckled.

Moira stared at the bottle in her hands. "They remind me of home." she said after a moment. "They aren't exactly Viking, closer to ancient Japanese samurai, I think. But that's close enough."

Puzzlement had caused Kallus' brow to cease just slightly. "You know, there are times I don't understand half of what you say."

"No one does." Moira muttered, and Fili recognized that familiar bitterness tainting her tone. "That's what happens when you come from a dead planet."

The puzzlement had transformed into something between concern and sorrow.

"Siri …" He said her name with such deep caring that it caused her to look up, and lock eyes with him. "I've never asked directly, but …"

"What happened to my world?"

Kallus nodded.

"You and I both know, the Empire takes what it wants." She broke eye contact. "A people's level of development doesn't matter if their planet has resources they can use."

"But … usually the aboriginal populations don't … _adjust_ as well as you have. I mean, you aren't that good with mechanics, and you can barely pilot a ship without an astromech, but, considering..."

Moira laughed, that sad, humorless laugh. "Never said I was born Viking. Adoption is very common, and my mother said that the Gods had sent me to her."

"Your ship crashed?" He sounded fascinated. "I suppose that a primitive people would consider something like that divine." He mused, more to himself than anyone else. Fili saw exactly what Moira was doing, of course. She couldn't tell him the truth. She stated a few facts and let him draw his own conclusions, knowing what he would assume she was trying to say. This way she didn't have to outright _lie_ to him, but it was still much the same thing. It allowed her to share _something_. But it still ended up having the effect of making her feel more alone than ever. Fili now recognized when she had been doing it to him, and instead of being angry, he just pitied her. Her life was unbelievably lonely. "How old were you?" Kallus refocused his attention on Moira.

"Old enough to remember, young enough to adapt." Moira was picking at the label on the tiharr bottle that read 'Concordian Clear', not able to meet his eyes. "Crazy as it is, I was happy there. Aslaug and Ragnar loved me, and I loved them. I still consider myself Viking, mostly. But when the Empire came, they never had a chance." Ah, the first outright lie.

"No. They wouldn't have." Kallus sighed, and raked his hands through his now-long hair. "I'm sorry."

"It is what it is."

They sat in silence for a while, Moira kicking her feet in the empty air.

"You have to stop drinking so much." Kallus said at last, looking into the jungle beyond the temple base's complex instead of at her. "I don't care about the rest. But this isn't good for you. Kanan wouldn't want this for you."

Moira laughed bitterly. "You weren't there after Malachor. He was a fucking mess. It's just my turn, I guess." Kallus looked like he was going to say something, but she ignored it and went on, her voice hollow and her eyes unfocused. "I felt him die, you know. I wasn't there, but when it happened, I knew."

Kallus inhaled sharply. "I can't imagine what that was like."

"No, you can't."

He reached out and took one of her hands in both of his, drawing her eyes back to his. There was no condemnation in their warm honey-colored depths, just concern. "He still wouldn't want this for you. He'd want you to keep fighting."

"I'm just so tired of fighting." She sighed, breaking the eye contact and looking to where he was holding her hand, rubbing her skin gently. "But there's really no other choice, is there?"

A small, confident smirk spread over his features, and the sarcastic bite was back in his tone as he answered. "Well, you could surrender to the Emperor, but I wouldn't recommend it."

A small smile tugged at Moira's lips in response to his snark. "Yeah." She took one last swig of the tiharr, and then hurled the nearly-empty bottle over the precipice. They were so far up that Fili couldn't hear the crash when it collided with the ground. "I'm done. No more drinking."

"Good. Although, you didn't have to _throw_ it." Once again, there no condemnation to his words, only amusement.

"Kal, I'm sorry. I know I haven't been dealing well."

"It's okay." he nodded. Fili had a feeling that Kallus, Rebel or not, would not have tolerated such behavior from anyone besides Moira. He placed a high value on dignity and decorum, and lately Moira had been acting with anything but. "Besides Hera, you were the closest to Kanan and Ezra. Losing another family like this, I can't imagine what that's like. But the rest of your family still needs you."

"Will you help me back to the _Ghost?_ " she asked, plainly a little nervous and embarrassed at having to rely on him. "I, uh, I might fall if you don't."

The smile that Kallus gave her was full of warmth and, although Fili knew that Moira didn't want to see it, love. "Of course, Siri. I'll always catch you when you fall."

She did stumble a little as Kallus pulled her up, but for once she didn't fight when someone tried to help her. He wrapped a strong arm around her, and she let him lead her away from the ledge.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

The next morning, Moira was groaning in pain from what had to be an awful hangover when she stumbled from her cabin into the _Ghost_ 's galley. She found Zeb and Rex there.

"Hey kiddo." Rex said gently. "Need some caf to take the edge off?" Fili noticed that the old, bearded clone trooper had a huge black eye when he moved close to offer Moira a mug of caf. Fili wasn't entirely certain what a clone was. Rex _looked_ human, but Fili knew that he couldn't be, because of the frequent jokes about him having the same face as thousands of his identical brothers. Fili wondered how they were born if they were ten of thousands of what were basically twins, and additionally he'd heard that they had no mothers (somehow). He imagined gigantic egg sacs of some kind. He'd seen enough strange things in this reality that the idea no longer surprised him. Fili was more surprised that Rex and his brothers looked so _human_ , actually. Apparently at one point the Republic's army had been made up entirely of Rex's identical brothers, but after the Republic had become the Empire, they had been "decommissioned". The Empire had used him and his brothers up, abandoned the very soldiers who had won the galaxy for them. Despite his brothers having been the ones to carry out this Order 66, slaughtering the Jedi when Emperor Palpatine commanded it, in a way they were as much a victim of the new order as the Jedi were. Understandably, it had taken Kanan a lot of time to fully trust Rex. The man had the same face as the troopers who had betrayed him and murdered his Master in front of him, after all. But Rex had proven himself a loyal and trustworthy ally and a strange, uneasy friendship had grown between them, forged in the fire of a new war. But now Kanan was dead, and as far as Fili knew, Rex was the only veteran of the Clone Wars left.

Moira accepted the cup of caf gratefully, sagging against the wall somewhat. "Where'd you get that shiner?" She asked Rex as she clutched the steaming mug.

He cast a knowing glance back at Zeb. The huge purple creature's strange, pointed, feline-like ears drooped in dismay, and the left one flicked to the side nervously. "Uh, you don't remember?" Zeb's gruff voice sounded uncharacteristically nervous. For such a fearsome looking creature, such bashfulness was unexpected and strangely endearing.

"What?" Moira was plainly confused as she took a careful sip of the hot liquid.

Rex turned back to Moira. "You had night terrors again last night, kiddo."

"I did that?!" She gasped in horror. "Oh Gods, Rex, I'm sorry!"

"It's nothing." Rex insisted. "Do ya mind if we sit down? My old bones could use a break."

 _He really does know her_ , Fili mused. She was wobbly, but wouldn't have shown weakness if she could help it. By framing it as a favor to him, she didn't argue. She followed him into the common room, sliding into the booth beside him. Zeb folded his massive frame onto a nearby crate. His face was impassive, but the restless movement of his ears betrayed his nervousness.

Rex spoke first. "Kid, you aren't the only soldier I've seen who's turned to drink to control the nightmares. But ya gotta know that in the long run, it'll only make the demons stronger."

"I know. I'm stopping. As of now." She winced as her eyes raked over the dark bruise around Rex's eye. "I really am sorry.

Zeb grunted. "I still dream about what happened on Lasan, sometimes. If anyone understands bad dreams, it'd be us." After a pause, the Lasat just had to add, "Kal would too, ya know."

"What's _that's_ supposed to mean?" Moira glared at her much larger, much furrier friend.

"Nothin', kiddo." Rex made sure to pipe up before Zeb could stick his massive four-toed foot in his mouth again. "Look, Kal told us what happened." Apparently Moira's nickname for Kallus had caught on with all her friends. "And we took the liberty of cleaning all the booze out of the _Ghost_ while you were out. Can't do anything about the rest of the base, we can help you avoid temptation here at home, at least."

Moira nodded, staring at her drink. Fili knew she was horribly embarrassed, but he was just glad that she had help to clean up her act. "Is Hera mad?"

"Course not." Zeb insisted. "Probably a 'lil disappointed. Sad, too. But she's been through this before."

"With Kanan." Her voice sounded hollow. "I didn't mean to make things harder on her."

"With me, too." Zeb said quietly, his ears swirling as if chasing a fly, his large shoulders slightly hunched. "I was a mess when Kanan rescued me from Lasan. I had failed in my duty to protect the royal family, and even though I logically knew it wasn't all on me, it still felt like it was."

"It's alright, kiddo." Rex squeezed her shoulder, a smile on his grandfatherly face. "We got yer back, and not just in a firefight."

Moira nodded, a look of both relief and apprehension on her face. They likely thought that she was apprehensive about the difficulty of kicking her alcohol habit. Fili knew better. The closer she allowed herself to be with anyone, the more chance there was of slipping up and saying something she couldn't explain away. And she did share one belief in common with the Jedi, a belief that Kanan had strangely never been good at following: Attachments were a dangerous weakness.

...........................................................................................................................................................................

Mon Mothma had called an emergency meeting. Hera, Kallus, Cassian Andor, Bail Organa, and several leaders of the Rebellion that Fili didn't recognize were in attendance. The Senator from Alderaan was attending by some feat of technology called a 'hologram'. His ghostly, translucent likeness was treated as if he was actually there. Fili couldn't imagine treating such a miraculous thing as commonplace, but such was the reality of this place.

When Mon Mothma nodded at Kallus, as the highest-ranking Intelligence officer present, he began the meeting. "There have been reports on the Holonet of Imperial officers, including lower-ranking ISB agents, who have been kidnapped, tortured, and then their bodies left displayed, likely as a warning. The brutality of these tactics suggest Saw Gerrerra's group, but then men who had been killed in the same, unique way began to turn up too far away from his current operation, and in quick succession. We now think it is the work of someone else."

"And why exactly should we care about what happens to a few Imps?" Fili didn't fail to notice that Cassian's hard dark eyes bored into Kallus as he said that. Kallus' jaw clenched slightly, but nothing more. Moira's fists tightened at her sides, showing that she had noticed it, too.

" _ **We**_ do not mistreat our prisoners." The spectral Bail Organa insisted.

The measured, supremely reasonable voice of Mon Mothma managed to make her disapproval of Cassian's attitude clear without actually _saying_ so. "Because the Empire's propaganda machine is blaming the Rebellion for these senseless acts. When they smear our name, it not only turns the people against us and makes the Empire look like heroes, but it could make potential informants think twice about reaching out to us. Major Kallus, please continue."

Kallus stepped up to the center of the room, his hands flying over the controls. "I should warn you, these images are extremely graphic."

Fili felt nauseous when the 'holo' appeared floating above the round console in the middle of the room: those men had been blood-eagled. Moira gasped, recognizing the method instantly. Most of the Rebels present most likely thought that her reaction was because of the violence and vicious nature of the crime, but Fili knew better. And so, apparently, did Kallus, because he was peering at her in an odd way, brown eyes shrewd and cunning.

Suddenly, Moira's eyes rolled up into her head, and she gasped out a single word: "Ezra." A wave of dizziness crashed over Fili as flares of red and black overwhelmed the scene. Fragments of other images rushed by, faster than he could process. As soon as he recognized one, another slipped by before he could catalog it. Sounds, too, rushed by him, and he could only make out a few from the frenzy. Ezra's voice, demanding answers; Screams; a green lightsaber swinging and cleaving a head from it's owner's body; blood splashing over boots; Maul's voice, telling Ezra to go deeper, to channel his anger; a boy's hand picking up a knife; more blood, more screams.

When the world righted itself again, Moira was being held by Kallus, and they were both on the ground. She was clutching his jacket desperately, breathing ragged, and Fili realized that he had just witnessed Moira having a Force-vision, and a particularly strong one, too. Which meant that Maul was still alive?! So much for Ezra's assurances that they didn't need to worry about him any more.

"Are you alright, dear?" Hera was crouched next to where Kallus was holding her, and her green head-tails quivered in worry.

"Wh-what happened?" she managed to gasp out.

"You collapsed." Kallus' voice was full of concern.

"You looked like you were having a seizure." Hera added.

"And … you were screaming Ezra's name," Kallus searched her face as he said that. But she avoided his eyes, staring instead at the rank insignia on his chest. Oh, but that behavior was familiar to Fili! Whenever this was, he was fairly certain it wasn't too long ago. She acted far too much like _his_ Moira. "Gerrerra didn't do it. Ezra did. And it's my _fault_."

"Why would you say that?" Kallus asked.

Mon Mothma's voice broke in. "Major Kallus, Captain Syndulla, I think you should take Miss Starscream to Medical. We can reconvene later."

"No, I'm fine, I don't need -" her protest was cut off in a squeak when Kallus simply lifted her up in his arms.

"We don't have time for you to fight us, Siri." He rumbled.

"I'm getting you back for this." She glared at him.

"I'm sure you will." He responded mildly.

.......................................................................................................................................................................

Medical had found that Moira had an irregular heartbeat, and insisted that she stay the night for observation. She had been given a private room, which Fili gathered was a great rarity. Kallus had insisted, saying he had to debrief her about her vision and how it had related to the meeting.

"How come you've never asked for specifics about my past before?"

"I know you value your privacy." Kallus looked up from the datapad in his hand. He was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair, back ramrod-straight, next to Moira's bedside. "I respect that. I'm much the same way. I'm … sorry …that I have to pry now."

"It's okay."

"Now, you said this is your fault." Kallus hid his discomfort by falling into his practiced calm professionalism. He looked at the datapad, fingers poised to type, instead of at Moira. "Why would you think that?"

"Because no one in the galaxy but me knows that particular method. Ezra must have pulled it from my mind, or seen it in my dreams."

"I assume it's a Viking technique, then?" he managed to sound completely detached, cool and collected. Fili didn't know _how_.

"Yes. It's called a blood-eagle. It's not technically meant as torture, although I guess that's the only word for it. It's an execution method. Very rare, reserved for the worst of the worst. I only know of it being used 3 times in the last 60 years." She swallowed nervously. "I was there for two of those times."

Kallus' eyes looked up from the datapad for the first time since the debriefing had started. His face didn't betray any emotion, but his eyes looked uneasy.

"You know the Empire took my home and massacred my people." Kallus nodded, and Fili sighed. She had fully committed to the lie, then. Although he didn't know what else he had expected, it disappointed him, somehow.

"What you don't know is that we had plenty of our own wars. My brothers and I … we performed the blood-eagle on the English King who had tortured our father to death."

There was a flicker of recognition in Kallus' eyes, and Fili remembered Moira's flippant comment when he had revealed himself as Fulcrum. If she wasn't careful, her lies were going to fall apart. And then she'd run, as she always did.

"By the time we had gone back home, I had lost my taste for war. We won back our home, and captured Lagertha … um, she was the woman who invaded our kingdom, and murdered my mother in front of me, _after_ she surrendered, I might add." Again, Kallus' eyes flicked from the datapad to her, and again he didn't speak. "I know Ivar blood-eagled her, but this time, I didn't attend. I had taken my home back, and that was all I wanted. Ivar …. he got dark after the war. He got bloodthirsty. He _liked_ hurting people. By the time we went home, he wasn't my little brother any more." Her eyes were unfocused and her voice strained. "Now the same thing is happening with Ezra. Only even if I'm not there, I _still_ have to watch it."

Kallus swallowed. "About your vision … I'm sorry, but we need to know what you saw, and if any tactical data could be gleaned from it."

"Um, there's nothing really helpful. It was mostly just screams and blood. But there is one thing that I think could be important to know. I heard Maul's voice."

"Darth Maul?" Kallus' tone was suddenly sharper than a knife.

"Not Darth, not anymore." Moira corrected him. "Darth is a Sith title, and he's technically not a Sith anymore. But he's never gonna stop being a Darksider, and," she worried her lip for a moment. "I think Ezra is with him. It sounded like he was training him."

Kallus took a deep breath. "That's not good."

"No, it's really not." Moira agreed.

After a moment of silence while Kallus' fingers flew over the datapad and Moira watched him, she asked, "You're really not going to ask what other things I did?"

"What do you mean?"

"You must know that what my brothers and I did to Aelle wasn't all I did. You already know Vikings are a warrior culture - duh, I compared them to the Mandalorians. So what would I have to feel so guilty about?"

"You don't _need_ to tell me anything that doesn't relate to your vision or the Rebellion," Kallus said softly. "Not if you don't want to."

Moira looked at her hands, and it was plain that there was a lot that she _wanted_ to tell him. Her secrets were eating her up inside, but she could only divulge so much. "I've killed people that were my friends, too. I still remember the look of betrayal in his eyes when …." Moira swallowed and looked at her hands. She laughed awkwardly. "Gods, I miss alcohol. At the time, I justified it by saying that I was ultimately protecting people. I told myself it was necessary, that it was -"

"For the greater good." Kallus said softly.

Moira laughed humorlessly. "The most dangerous words in the galaxy."

Kallus sat in silence for a moment, before he laid the datapad in his lap and looked deeply into Moira's eyes, "I killed Maketh." He said it quietly, as if sharing a personal secret.

"Minister Tua?" Moira looked confused. "I remember. You framed _us_ for it. It's part of why we had to flee Lothal. Other than, well, Vader." Moira's voice got suddenly soft as she put two and two together. "You … you just called her by her first name. Were you and she ….?"

Kallus nodded, hesitantly.

Moira dropped her eyes, horror in her voice. "You still killed her."

"It worse than you know." Kallus cleared his throat, and for a moment, the only sound between them were the beeping of the medical machines.

"Vader knew that if we applied enough pressure, she'd go to the Rebels. Maketh was kind, too kind for the Empire. When Vader ordered me to, I helped to engineer her defection in the first place. To draw your cell out." He paused for a beat. "And then I murdered her for it." he sighed deeply and leaned back into the chair, eyes haunted. "It may be hard to believe, considering how it ended, but I did care for her a great deal."

Fili felt like Yavin had tipped underneath him, and he reeled from the revelation. He had known that Kallus had done horrible things in the name of the Empire, but to betray a _lover_ like that! Fili felt disgusted at the mere thought. No wonder Kallus was filled with self-loathing.

Moira, for her part, blew out a long, slow breath. She didn't immediately offer forgiveness or tell him pretty lies that it was all okay. He was trying to make up for his horrific past, but how could that **_ever_** be okay? As far as Fili could tell, it was the honesty that Kallus respected about her as much as her blatant acceptance. After a moment she sighed. "Do you think we'll ever be able to find some sort of redemption for everything we've done?"

"I don't know." He sounded tired. "Most days, I'd settle for a full night's sleep, uninterrupted by dreams."

"I hear you. Zeb and Rex don't bug me to tell them what I dream about, at least, even if one of 'em has to wake me and I come up swinging. Old soldiers, y'know. Hera still tries to get me talk about it sometimes."

"Captain Syndulla means well." He smiled a little as he said that, and there was a fondness tinging his tone. "She's been very kind to me, as well, even though I have no right to it."

"I know. It's who she is. But she'd never understand, not really. I'd never burden her. If I ever told anyone, it'll be _you_." Kallus looked surprised at the confession, as if he hadn't realized that she trusted him _more_ than the rest of the _Ghost's_ crew, at least in this regard. "But I can't bring myself to talk about it, so instead I drink. Or I used to. Trying to curb that particular habit." She laughed awkwardly. "I still sleep around. Totally healthy, I know."

Kallus looked distinctly uncomfortable now, and fidgeted in his chair a little. Considering his obvious feelings for her, Fili wasn't surprised. "Well, we all have our vices."

"And what's yours?" Moira cocked her head to the side as she looked at him."You're a perfect officer."

 _You,_ Fili thought. _Can't you see that?_

"Did you miss the part where I committed genocide?" Kallus asked, tone acidic.

Moira rolled her eyes. "Oh, and were you the _only_ Imperial at the Massacre of Lasan? Could one officer _really_ have changed what happened that day?"

"Well, no, but -"

"You did what you did." Moira cut him off, waving her hand through the air dismissively. "But you couldn't have stopped the entire Imperial fleet."

Kallus seemed troubled by that. "I should've tried. I might have gotten a pardon from Mon Mothma, till the end of the war at least, but I'm still a war criminal. That will never change."

Moira shrugged. "At least you're trying to make up for it now."

"It'll never be enough." he said with resignation.

"Maybe not." She held his gaze. "But I think trying is the point. At least, I think that when I'm feeling optimistic. I have to."

Kallus' eyes dropped to the datapad that was back in his hand. "I think I like you better when you're not drinking." He mused after a moment.

They sat in silence for a while.

"Hera's pregnant." She blurted suddenly. Kallus' expression was one of pure shock. He actually dropped the datapad. "It's Kanan's." Moira continued.

Kallus gaped. "But it's been …"

"Like four months since Kanan died? And she's still flat as a washboard?"

Kallus nodded dumbly.

"I guess Twi'leks have a different gestation period than humans."

"I would have assumed that Twi'leks would be pregnant for a shorter period than humans, considering the harshness of Ryloth's environment." He looked thoughtful. He was in full "figure-it-out" mode, the wheels of his impressive mind turning. "I suppose that human genes might make for an extended pregnancy."

"Or Twi'leks don't show as much as humans do." Moira shrugged. "I don't exactly go around asking people personal questions about how their species reproduces."

Kallus chuckled quietly at the ridiculous thought. "To be frank, I had no idea that it would even be possible. There's no record of such a thing."

"If there was, I'm sure the Empire has destroyed them. Interspecies relationships are pretty much considered treason against the human race. But you would know that better than anyone."

"Yes." he looked troubled.

"Oh." Moira looked at him more sharply now. "How do _you_ feel about it? Old prejudices can be hard to shake off, even if you want to." Fili knew she was thinking of her own half-alien daughter, hopefully still alive in another universe, and wondering if Kallus would be disgusted by her if he knew. The Earth Republic hadn't treated Moira and her daughter very well, and Fili wondered if anti-alien prejudice was a universal human trait. Or multiuniversal? He didn't know what the right words were for any of this anymore.

Kallus sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's true, there was a time I would have found the very idea … offensive. But as you like to remind me over and over, I'm not the same man I used to be. Besides, I've never seen any two people so in love as Kanan and Hera were, or who complemented each other so perfectly, whatever their species. How can I be offended by that?"

Moira smiled sadly and nodded. "It makes it hard to be around her right now, though."

"Isn't it a comfort?" He had that confused look on his face again, but also determined, as if he wouldn't rest until he had figured 'Siri' out. Oh, how Fili could sympathize. "I would have imagined that you would be happy to know that something of Kanan survives, after..." the sentence drifted off.

"It is. I am." Moira sighed, scrubbing her free hand over her eyes. "But I'm not sure if she even knows yet."

"Then how do you … oh. The Force."

"Yeah, the Force." Moira rolled her eyes, and her tone dripped with sarcasm and frustration. "What a lot of fun _THAT'S_ been. You know, I thought I was going crazy at first. I kept sensing Kanan, only … it _wasn't_ him. It wasn't … a _mind_ , it wasn't entirely sentient. Just a kind of echo, or a reflection of him, you know?"

"No." he said flatly, completely honest.

"No, of course you don't." Moira sighed. "It's him. But it's not. It's too undeveloped to be entirely conscious, but it's still reaching out, in its innocence and curiosity... It was driving me nuts, till I noticed a pattern. It was only when Hera was around."

Kallus nodded. "And you realized it was because it's _**in**_ her. That explains why you've been avoiding her the last few months."

"Yeah."

"Doesn't explain why you don't just tell her."

"And how exactly do you imagine that going?" she scoffed. Her voice became falsely and mockingly cheerful. "How'd the last mission go, Hera? By the way, you're pregnant. It's Kanan's, and it's Force-sensitive. I could sense it reaching out for my mind, oh, and I told former Agent Kallus, who used to be our sworn enemy, before I told you. You don't mind, do you?," She dropped the sing-song tone and forced cheerfulness before going on. "Yeah, right. That sounds like a _real_ fun conversation!"

"While I'm fairly certain that Captain Syndulla doesn't think of me of 'Agent' Kallus anymore, I do see your point." He gazed at her, his eyes searching. "There's more."

"What makes you say that?"

He snorted. "I've been an Intelligence officer for most of my adult life, first for the Empire, and now the Rebellion. There's something else bothering you."

Moira's face crumpled, and her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "Kal, I'm the only Force-sensitive Rebel here."

"I'm aware of that." He said it very slowly, the sarcasm thick as he rolled his eyes. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You don't get it, do you? Ezra fell to the Dark Side because of _me_."

Shock wiped the smirk from his face. "Siri, that's not true!" He protested. "Maybe he pulled those … particular torture methods from your mind, but Bridger made his own choices."

Moira's eyes were brimming with unshed tears, her voice pained. "If Kanan were here, he could send that baby a sense of peace. He could make it feel safe, communicate with it without hurting it."

"You-you think that you're going to _hurt_ Hera's baby, just by being around her?!" His voice raised slightly, not able to keep his normal control in his astonishment.

"Ezra's always been naturally emphatic. He could always connect to others without even really trying. Started with the fyrnocks when the Grand Inquisitor nearly killed Kanan. In Ezra's rage, he sicced them on the Inquisitor and troopers."

"I remember reading the report. "

"Then the lothcats, the purrgill, then people. Kanan could always sense my nightmares, but Ezra…." Moira shook her head. "Ezra is naturally _**so**_ much more powerful than Kanan ever was. Don't you get it? Kanan was raised in the Jedi Temple before the Purge. He would lose his way, sometimes, but he had a natural calmness at his center. He could block things out if he really needed to. Ezra … being a streetrat as a kid … he didn't have that calm. My anger, my fear, my hatred and pain is out of control. I must have felt like a Gods-damnned _hurricane_ to him." Through her diatribe, Moira had grown increasingly upset. The tears that had been threatening through the entire speech had finally started to overflow, and Kallus was watching with growing concern as she raged. "Maul himself told me that my pain rolls off of me like a silent scream, that he could hear me from an entire planet away! He said if I had a _fraction_ of Ezra's power, he would have already turned me, and that he could _still_ make a great Sith out of me! _***I***_ infected Ezra with my darkness, and I didn't even mean to!"

"No!" Kallus' hands reached out and grabbed a hold of her shoulders. He shook her to get her attention. "You told me once that I couldn't carry the weight of Atollon. I'm _not_ letting you carry the weight of this."

"Kal, wh-what if I corrupt that child, while it's still in the womb?" Her lip was quivering. "What if my presence is just _that_ corrosive?"

"It's not. Siri, I swear to you, it's not. If anything, you've _healed_ me."

"You're not Force-sensitive."

He clearly had no response to that, so instead Kallus just wrapped her in his arms and held her as she cried. Fili was struck my the dark irony that the man who was comforting her about Ezra's use of her own torture techniques, had once tortured her himself.

...........................................................................................................................................................................

Moira walked quickly through Yavin Base, dodging clusters of people and busy droids as she went. The base was more crowded than Fili had ever seen it. He wondered how much time had passed, because clearly the Rebellion had grown. Behind her, Kallus was following, hurrying his steps to catch up with her.

"Siri. Siri!" He called after her, but she ignored him. He frowned, and doubled his efforts, his long strides catching up easily. With one hand on her shoulder he spun her around. "You're going, aren't you? On Captain Andor's mission. The one the Erso girl brought."

"Don't be ridiculous." Moira rolled her eyes, but there was a nervous twitch in her cheek. Whatever mission he was talking about, Fili knew instantly that not only was she going, but she didn't want him to know about it. "No such mission has been approved. That would be disobeying direct orders."

"Which you've _never_ done." He replied sarcastically, a scowl on his face. "I've never lied to you, even when we were enemies. Do me the courtesy of returning that favor."

Moira raised her eyes to meet his, and a long, tense moment passed between them. Emotions warred on her face, flitting across her features too quickly for him to put a name to most. Chief among them was one that Fili was now used to seeing her wear: Regret. Suddenly Moira's small hands reached out, shaking slightly, and yanked on the lapels of Kallus' jacket, pulling him down to her level. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening, but he didn't have any time to react before her mouth was on his. Fili knew that Kallus had accepted long ago that nothing was going to happen between them. He likely believed that because of his vile actions when he had still served the Empire (some of which had personally hurt her - he had 'interrogated' her, after all), that forgiveness and even friendship from her was already far more than he deserved. Now she was changing the nature of their friendship, and publicly, too! There were a few whistles from passing Rebels, but somehow the normally private Kallus didn't react to that. He had thrown himself entirely into the kiss. Both his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her body close to his as one of her hands tangled in his hair, the other still clutching his jacket. Fili felt uneasy watching this, and for once, it wasn't out of jealousy. A sickening feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Would Moira _really_ use his feelings for her to manipulate him?

"That's not fair." Kallus gasped when their lips parted. "Please don't …. Please don't." He didn't finish the sentence, but Fili heard it anyway: _Please don't use this against me_. He wasn't dumb enough to miss the extremely suspicious timing, no matter how badly he wanted it. Despite his protest, his arms were still wrapped around her waist, and he had unexpected hope flaring in his brown eyes. Moira looked up at him, trying to smile. But the largest emotion on her face was sadness. Not saying a word, she turned, taking one of his hands in hers and leading him out of the crowded hanger. Kallus's confusion was plainly growing, but he followed her obediently. A few stray whoops and hollers followed them.

When they were alone in what appeared to be a supply room, hands still clenched tightly together, Kallus demanded answers. "Siri, what was -"

She cut off his question with another kiss, this one harder than before, more urgent. He held her, his mouth working on hers desperately as he shoved her against a shelf, hard enough to jostle some of its contents. A can of oil that those strange droid-creatures used to lubricate their mechanical parts fell off the far end of the shelf, but the couple paid it no mind. After a moment, he wrenched himself away from her, actually groaning a little from the effort. They were both panting.

Kallus watched her, and the plain desire in his eyes was tempered by confusion and maybe a little panic. Fili wondered if Kallus had the same suspicion he did. "You've made it clear that you aren't interested in relationships, and I," he gulped. "I've no desire to be used as mere stress relief. _Kriff_ , Siri, what _**IS**_ this?"

"It's kinda a major part of my personality that I don't deal with my feelings well." she whispered into his chest. She wasn't meeting his eyes. Fili felt a strange heaviness growing in his heart. Something wasn't right with this scene. Something was wrong.

Her carefully-worded confession made Kallus' golden-brown eyes widen in shock. He gently gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. "Are you - are you saying …. what I _think_ you're saying?"

"You're an Intelligence officer. Figure it out." the anger in Moira's tone made it sound more like she hated him, but Fili knew by now that anger was her defense. And Kallus knew it too. He just chuckled fondly. "You picked a hell of time to tell me."

"Yeah, well, what else would you expect from a kriffed-up mess like me?"

"Nothing less." he smoothed back a lock of her hair (still horribly short, in Fili's opinion), and then his fond tone changed to resolve. "I'm going to Scarif with you."

"No." Moira shook her head. "This is a suicide mission."

"Obviously." He snorted, but his usual sarcastic bite was notably muted. "But I never expected to escape Thrawn. I've had two years since Atollon, two good years as a free man, that I never thought I'd see. I'm proud of the man I've become, the man **you've** helped me become, you and Zeb and Kanan and all the rest. This planet-killer, this Death Star - I know more than anyone how good the Empire is at destroying worlds. It has to be done, despite whatever the council says. I want to die for a cause that is truly just. I want to atone. Please."

"I thought you might say something like that." Moira sounded sad. Resigned. She craned her neck up to meet his lips with hers again, and Fili thought he saw tears in her eyes when she kissed him. It was different this time, slow, tender, instead of hard and passionate. Again Fili got a horrible sickening feeling that something was wrong. This felt distinctly like a goodbye kiss. Moira had put up far less of a fight about Kallus going to his certain death than Fili would have expected her to. That wasn't like her. The sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach intensified as Fili caught the small flash of light glinting off of the needle when her hand came up to his neck.

If Moira had been anyone else, there was a high likelihood that the gambit would not have worked. Kallus had been a high-ranking Imperial Intelligence officer, a trained spy and analyst, taught to see the world's patterns, to predict behavior, and most especially to anticipate disloyalty to an arguably paranoid degree. But he had loved Moira silently and loyally for two years, perhaps longer. He had resigned himself to being only her friend. In that time he had seen her blame herself for Kanan's death and Ezra's fall to the Dark Side, and he had always been there to comfort her and pick her up when she fell (and she fell _spectacularly_ on several occasions). He had watched her self-destructive drinking habits escalate, and had helped her to stop. He had watched her numerous meaningless dalliances with other men, never believing that she'd consider him as an option. And now, she was here in his arms … He never had a chance.

Kallus jerked away from her the instant the needle sank into his flesh. "I'm sorry," Moira gasped out. Kallus smacked her hand away.

"You-You _drugged_ me!" His eyes were shining with sheer, deep _hurt_ at the betrayal as he staggered backwards. He sounded more pained than Fili had ever heard him. And that included when Thrawn had worked him over, and when one of Sabine's homemade bombs had gone off early, right in his face.

"I'm sorry … can't let you die for me…" tears overflowed from Moira's eyes now.

"You p-planned th-this," his words were slightly slurred, his voice filled with horror and hurt as he stumbled backwards. The drug was already taking effect, and his movements were rapidly losing coordination and becoming more unsteady. His back hit another shelf, and it shook hard enough that machine parts rained down on him. Fili winced as one hit his skull hard enough that it would no doubt leave an impressive bruise tomorrow. The pain must have startled him out of his stupor, or else the panic of a caged animal set in, because suddenly Kallus lurched towards her, hands outstretched and aimed for her throat. In his state, it was easy for her to avoid his faltering attack, and he missed by a mile. Still wobbling, he gripped the metal arm of the shelf for support, watching her warily. " _ **Why?**_ " he demanded.

"You have no idea," she sobbed, "How _hard_ it is to know the future, to predict all the variables, all the little changes!" Fili's brow furrowed, before the meaning of her words hit him like a ton of uncut stone. She knew _this_ world too, like she had known of the tales of Westeros and the Marvelverse. How many of the places she had been were considered fictional where she was from?! No wonder she blamed herself for Ezra's fate. Somehow, her interference had changed things. Not that Kallus would be able to make any sense of her babbling. "I _ruined_ Ezra, I'm pretty sure I'm responsible for Kanan's death too! Gods, I took the father of her child from Hera! Gods only know what else changed!"

Confusion was clouding Kallus' eyes as the drug started to take hold, and still Moira continued the confession that he couldn't possibly hope to understand. "I have to see this through, make sure that this, at least, goes the way it's supposed to! That the plans get to Princess Leia! It's too important! The Empire will win if I don't! But I can't watch you die because of _me_."

She caught Kallus when his strength gave out and he finally toppled over.

"Crazy bitch," he might managed to gasp out, voice tight with anger and filled with hatred, before the paralysis set in and he lost all control of his muscles.

Overwhelming sorrow filled Moira's eyes. "It's okay," she whispered as she sank to the ground, cradling the man that Fili was certain she loved, but would never admit as much. "I didn't expect you to forgive me. Not for this."

Major Alexsandr Kallus of Rebel Intelligence, formerly Agent ISB-021 of the Galactic Empire, finally succumbed to the drug. In his sleep, there was a peacefulness on his features that never rested there during wakefulness. Moira was transfixed by the sight for a moment. Fili's heart was heavy as he watched her tenderly stroke his face. He knew why she did this. Kallus had thought they'd die together at Scarif, wherever that was. Maybe there was actually a romantic buried deep under all the decades of Imperial conditioning and his own sense of professionalism and devotion to duty. But Moira didn't get to die, not permanently. He'd become one with the Force, but she would live on, in whichever universe she was reborn to next. She didn't want to live with the memory of him dying a bloody death on the battlefield. She had enough nightmares already. But in saving his life, she had done more than betray him in the most personal and hurtful way. She had also robbed him of the chance to truly atone for the monstrous crimes he had committed, the entire reason he had joined the Rebellion in the first place, to try to do something right for a change. Redemption was what Moira was constantly looking for, and she had taken away Kallus' chance for his.

"What's one more betrayal, if you get to live?" Moira gently smoothed his hair from out of his eyes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips, before she carefully moved his large frame off of her lap. "May the Force be with you, Kal." She whispered as she left the supply room, wiping away the tears that were streaming down her face.

.......................................................................................................................................................................

"I notice your _boyfriend_ isn't here." Cassian never bothered to hide his disdain for Kallus, or failed to needle Moira about her friendship with him. "The Imp might have actually been useful on Scarif."

"He hasn't been an Imp for three years." Moira ground out as she glared daggers at him. "And he wanted to come."

Cassian scoffed. "So what stopped him?"

She smiled an unnerving smile, dark eyes glittering, and her tone turned low and dangerous. "I drugged him and stuffed him in a supply closet."

It wasn't really funny, considering, but Fili smiled anyway as Cassian did a double-take. "You-you're not joking."

"Didn't you once accuse me of not having a sense of humor?" Moira snapped. Her defensive anger was in full effect now.

Cassian's battle-ready stance softened, his crossed arms unfolding, and his voice suddenly turned soft and compassionate. "You love him."

And just like that, met with kindness instead of condemnation, the anger was gone. Moira sighed. " _ **If**_ I do, it doesn't matter. I don't want him to follow me into battle. Not this one. The Rebellion still needs him. "

Cassian rolled his eyes. "Right, you did it for the _Rebellion_ . You never could admit your feelings."

As usual, Moira deflected the comment by turning it back on him. "You like Jyn. You gonna tell her?"

"How do you know that?" he demanded.

"Same way I know she wears a lightsaber crystal around her neck. Kybers are alive, you know. I can hear it singing."

"Right." Cassian sighed. "Having a Force-sensitive ex is really annoying."

"We aren't exes." Moira insisted. "We were never serious."

He said nothing, but shot her an exasperated look that spoke volumes. Huh. _So there's more to that story,_ Fili mused. That explained Cassian's intense dislike of Kallus, which Fili had sometimes thought bordered on the personal, instead of just ideological.

Moira swallowed uncomfortably, looking at her shuffling feet. "Well, if we're gonna die, I, uh, I'm sorry. I should have treated you better. And for the time I called you a heartless murdering bastard."

"And I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time about Kal." Moira's head shot up. By using his nickname, instead of referring to Kallus as 'the Imp' or using his former Imperial rank, Cassian was telling her that he had finally accepted him as one of them, as a Rebel. He coughed awkwardly. "And for when I called you a drunken whore."

A massive droid two heads taller than Cassian clanked his way up to them and interrupted. "Technically, drunken slut is more accurate. As far as I am aware, Siri has never received credits in exchange for intercourse."

"Kay!" Cassian snapped.

"What?" The metal creature's head swiveled towards Cassian. "It's true." he insisted. "Don't be mad at _me_ just because you use factually-incorrect insults."

Far from being offended, Moira shook her head. "Good to see you too, K2." To Cassian she remarked flippantly, "Alright, is our past absolved?" She started to stride past him. "Let's go blow up an impossible-to-breach base in the heart of Imperial territory and steal some unattainable top-secret plans."

...........................................................................................................................................................................

When Fili opened the next door, he found what could only be this doomed mission Moira had spoken of. Scarif would have been beautiful and idyllic, if it hadn't been a warzone. The sandy beaches were stained red with blood, the salty sea air carried the stench of scorched flesh and burning oil, the palm trees waving in the wind were on fire. It was sheer chaos. Fili didn't know why he was compelled to watch. He knew what was going to happen. She could only die here.

There was screaming, not just from the living and the dying but the loud mechanical wrenching of destroyed machinery. Bombs were going off everywhere, dust and debris raining down from the sky and choking the air.

From behind the trees, _something_ emerged, crushing the plants under its monstrous feet. Fili was used to 'starships' and 'droids' by now. But this was something else entirely, something he had never seen. It was _huge,_ and made of metal (of course it was, nearly everything here was made of metal). It had four mechanical legs, which moved with slow, blocky movements. It certainly looked like a gigantic beast of some kind.

"Karabast!" Moira cursed. "WE GOT WALKERS INCOMING!"

He'd heard that word in discussions between Moira and her comrades, but had not understood them. He had never seen an Imperial walker. As if the creature had heard her comment, it turned it's massive head in her direction. It spit fiery disruptor charges from an invisible mouth, igniting the sky as the blots ripped apart the landscape around her.

"RETREAT!" Moira screeched at the top of her lungs, as she began to run backwards, firing shots at the massive beast as she went. She was laying down cover fire for the other soldiers she was fighting beside, but her small rifle was useless against the massive metal beast.

Suddenly there were troopers everywhere, and Fili hadn't seen where they had come from. Blaster blots were flying through the air, and one of them them hit Moira's hand. She yelped, her skin smoking, and the rifle dropped. A Stormtrooper was on her now; but Moira knocked his own weapon from his hand, and he was caught by surprise when this tiny, feral female threw herself at him instead of running. They both fell to the ground, Moira on top of him.

When the helmet was knocked from the Stormtrooper's head, it became clear that he was _painfully_ young. In the years of Men, he may have just barely reached his second decade. Moira didn't stop her attack to contemplate his age. There was no time. Both of their guns had been knocked aside. Fili felt sick as he watched her bludgeon him to death with a rock, his skull making a sickening crack and his blood and brains staining the sand.

She didn't stop. More troopers were coming. She dived towards where the guns were, grabbing the blaster rifle that had been dropped by the soldier she had just slain so brutally, as her own sidearm was out of reach. She spun around, her back on the ground, firing wildly into the oncoming platoon. Many fell. Many more came. Eventually the rifle stopped working. She threw it aside, muttering "depleted power cell," to herself.

Scrambling backwards over the sand, she had reached one of her own weapons - a smaller version than the rifle, a 'pistol' if Fili had the terminology correct. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the blaster. She twisted, turning to fire, but was stuck in the chest by a bolt from another Stormtrooper who was standing over her now. She fell back, a smoking, ugly hole in her chest, and Fili thought he'd puke at the sight. With obvious struggle, she raised her arm and fired two red shots of light, wildly and with less precision than before. And it was over.

Blackness closed on the scene and heaviness over Fili's heart. Fili didn't know if she had managed to take down the Stormtrooper who had killed her. More importantly, Fili didn't know if the mission had succeeded. Moira had died not knowing if Cassian and Jyn had managed to steal the Death Star plans and send them to the fleet, or if she really had destroyed everything. He closed the door. For a moment, he allowed himself to contemplate the possibility of a galaxy's worth of lives that Moira might have accidentally ruined, simply by existing. Simply by allowing herself to be swept up in events. Trillions upon trillions of beings. Fili couldn't even wrap his head around that number - _**trillions**_. It was too high for him, too many. Too many beings, too many lives. And Moira might had set that galaxy on fire. The only sound in the hall for a long time was his heavy breathing, before he forced himself to move on.

...........................................................................................................................................................................

When Fili opened the next door, he was surprised to see a woodland clearing filled with Elves. A huge difference from the technologically-advanced world he had just observed. Mahal, if he found the change confusing while simply observing her memories, what must it be like for _her?_

These were not Elves as Fili knew them. Their skin was blacker than night, their hair white as snow, but they were clearly Elves, of a sort. Their ears were pointed, just as the Elves in Middle-Earth, and they moved with the typical Elven grace. But there was more different about them than the Elves that Fili knew besides their skin and hair color. There was a vile feel to them, somehow, something dark and twisted that Fili couldn't explain. They set his teeth on edge. Well, more than _normal_ Elves. These Elves were armored for war, heavily armed. But it was their eyes that caught his attention. A few had eyes of an odd lavender color, or an unnaturally pale blue. But most of these strange Elves' eyes were the color of fresh-spilled blood. They nearly glowed, a piercing, malevolent red that cut through the gloom of the dark woods surrounding them. The unearthly, near-demonic eyes were disturbing to look at, almost painful. The twisted smirks on most of their faces didn't help the demonic image, and Fili shivered involuntarily.

In the middle of this camp of Dark Elves armed for war, under guard, was Moira, hands tied in front of her, clothing torn, looking oddly calm, if a little dazed. There were tear-marks streaked on her face, and an impressive purple bruise on her temple – perhaps the strange peaceful aura was explained by a concussion. A dull ache settled in Fili's chest. Something _terrible_ was about to happen. There was no other explanation for her inexplicable fear of Elves, even when every memory had been drained from her and she didn't know why she felt the way she did.

A similarly bound man – no, a boy – was roughly shoved beside Moira as the Elves continued to set up their camp. The two humans were being ignored, for now. Actually, as Fili watched the adolescent huddle closer to her, he realized that the teen looked like a younger, male version of his One. He was skinny, taller than her, but only slightly. His shaggy, shoulder-length hair was just as dark as Moira's, and he had her full lips, her small nose, her round face, albeit with a slightly more masculine edge. He was just getting his first hint of a beard on his chin, the darkness of the fuzz offsetting his pale skin, another testament to his youth. The only significant difference between the two was his moss-colored eyes, which he must have inherited from his father.

"Mother," he whispered to Moira, confirming what Fili had suspected. "How are we going to get out of this?"

"I don't know yet," she whispered back. "I'm working on something. But," she chewed her lip as she looked at the boy sadly, "Baby, we have to be willing _not_ to."

When he gave her a shocked look, Moira smiled softly. "Your sisters, they're in Silverymoon. Do you want them to suffer the same fate as your father?"

The boy closed his eyes, clearly steeling himself as he nodded. Fili's heart sank.

"The druid, he was your mate, wasn't he?" A female Elf with long, flowing white locks walked up to the bound prisoners, addressing Moira. Her voice had the customary superior Elven sneer to it, but there was something else, too. As much as Fili didn't like Elves, he had to admit that they rarely exuded as much menace as this dark breed. These Elves felt as vile as Orcs, but far, far more dangerous.

"You've made our campaign quite difficult, Ranger." The Elf woman, who appeared to be in charge, continued to speak to Moira, "You've made me look a fool. And you started as a mere thief in Waterdeep, as well. You can see how that was …. somewhat embarrassing for me."

"Sorry to be such a problem."

"I had hoped to take both you _and_ your mate as slaves. I had so looked forward to breaking you both, to teaching you your proper place in the Underdark." The Elf female made an exaggerated pout. "It's a shame he made me kill him instead."

" _ **Bitch,**_ " the boy beside Moira snarled.

"Arden, shush!" Moira cautioned him as she rolled to her knees and tried to move in front of the furious teenager.

"Your son is very handsome," the Elf purred, and her red eyes locked with Moira's as she reached out and stroked Arden's face, making the boy flinch. Fili felt sick. Suddenly the Elf's long, elegant fingers twisted in the boy's dark hair, and he yelped in pain as she dragged him from behind Moira. She lunged forward, her bound hands reaching for the She-Elf's throat, but was yanked back as one of the male Elves wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his armored chest.

"Watch," he snarled into her ear, hatred evident in his tone. "You killed my brother. Zesdra has promised to let me help break you." Fili growled as the Elf's groping hands made it clear how he wanted to break Moira. His anger was easier to focus on than his despair or helplessness. No wonder Moira was angry all the time. It gave her strength. Ironically, that same anger-powered strength was why she had refused Kanan's training, fearful that she'd fall to Dark Side, as Ezra had.

"Your husband was too wild, I see that now," Zesdra purred as she pulled the struggling boy to her. "Your son, however …." The boy's green eyes were wide with panic as the She-Elf gripped his chin and she licked her lips.

Moira began to thrash in the male Elf's arms. "Let go of him, you fucking cunt!"

"Such language, in front of the child," Zesdra cooed disapprovingly. "You ever been with a woman, boy? Oh, the things I could teach you." And the She-Elf kissed the boy, harshly, biting his lips as she forced her mouth onto hers.

"Zesdra, please," Moira begged, using the Elf's name. She had gone slack in the male's arms, not fighting his superior strength, and her tone had gone from confrontational to pleading. "Do whatever you want with me, just leave Arden alone!"

The Elf pulled away from Moira's son, making a show of considering. "I _might_ be persuaded to let the boy go." Her tone become suddenly businesslike. "How many defenders are left in Silverymoon after the last garrisons were sent out?"

Fili and Arden both stiffened simultaneously. Moira just glared, not answering. Zesdra turned back to the boy, hovering close. "Do you know, boy?"

"No," his voice wavered.

"Are you sure?" Zesdra purred. "You wouldn't want to watch Dinin here have his way with your mother, would you?" The boy's eyes widened in horror as the Elf that held Moira made a show of groping her as she hissed and struggled futilely.

"I don't know, I swear!" Arden's voice raised in desperation. "We haven't been back to Silverymoon in months! We left my sisters there to keep them safe and haven't been back since! Please believe me!"

Zesdra regarded the boy for a moment, while Moira continued to struggle against Dinin behind her. "I believe you," the Elf in charge said after a moment. "You've no guile. I doubt you know how to lie. Dinin, stop," she commanded her subordinate. The Elf grunted in displeasure but obeyed her orders.

When Zesdra stalked towards Moira, Fili noticed that Dinin had ripped Moira's cloak from her shoulders, and he was still gripping her bare upper arms with bruising strength. The front of her tunic was ripped, and she was panting heavily. Zesdra loomed close, her voice quiet but no less threatening. "You were smart, not to let him know the information I need. Children are so much easier to manipulate, aren't they?" She stroked her long, dark fingers down Moira's face. She was far too close, and almost looked like she was going to kiss her, too. "Still, you should have left him in Silverymoon with his sisters."

Zesdra turned back to the boy. Another Elf stepped up, handing a wickedly-curved scimitar to his commander.

"What are you doing?" Moira tried to surge forward again, but was again yanked back against her captor.

"Surely you're smarter than that." Zesdra laughed as she forced Arden to his knees, placing the scimitar at his neck. "Answer the question. You've lost your mate today. Do you want to lose your child, too?"

"I have two others," Moira tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice was shaking.

"I was under the impression that you humans were more attached to your offspring." The Elf clucked her tongue. "What kind of a mother are you?"

"I have a duty to the people of Silverymoon."

"Duty." Zesdra laughed. She nodded at the Elf holding Moira, and he dragged her closer, forcing to her knees, facing Arden. _So she can watch the light leave her son's eyes,_ Fili realized in despair. "I hope that the thought that you clung to your duty comforts you when you dream of this moment."

"Mother, it's okay," the boy gasped out, right before the Elf ran the scimitar over his throat, opening his flesh and spraying his hot red blood on Moira's face. Fili's heart stopped. The wordless howl that came from Moira barely sounded human, and she ripped herself from the Elf's hand on her shoulder and launched herself at Zesdra. Caught by surprise, the She-Elf brought the scimitar down on her shoulder. Moira crumbled next to the body of her son, her high-pitched screaming piercing Fili's soul like a thousand needles. The severed limb was still tied to her good arm, where her hands had been bound. Fili had to turn away from the horrific sight, struggling not to dry-heave.

"You said I could have her!" He could still hear the Dark Elves arguing over the sound of Moira's shrieking.

"We have to move, and she's useless now!" Zesdra snapped, and then she must have killed her, because there was a wet _squelch_ , followed by silence. Fili leaned on the door-jamb for some time, breathing heavily. Well. That explained a lot.

Eventually, he opened his eyes, saw only darkness beyond the door, and gently closed it. He was glad to leave the door and terrible memory behind, but apprehensive to continue. Fili continued to search, but was deeply aware that the memories could only get worse.

.....................................................................................................................................................................

The room beyond the next door was foreboding. It was some sort of castle. There were no windows. Arcane symbols decorated the walls, and the dark stone room was lit only by candles and oil lamps. It carried the sharp smell of decay and death. A brigade of soldiers in chainmail entered with four women dressed in dirty rags, including Moira. All of them were acting submissive, but two of them were far more bruised and scrawny, as if they had been imprisoned longer. The lead soldier addressed a man in a white robe with greasy black hair who had been standing over a table when they entered. "Wizard, I've brought you your prisoners."

The wizard turned and asked, "Where are the rest of them?"

"They scattered like rats," the lead soldier explained. "But my men will find them."

"I don't remember this one." The wizard was referring to a dark-haired woman who was at front of the group, her head down, eyes lowered. Moira was only a few steps behind her, acting similarly cowed, but her eyes were focused on the woman in front of her. As if she was guarding her.

"What's your name?" The greasy wizard reached out and gripped the woman's chin, turning her to face him. His dark eyes widened, almost with recognition. Suddenly she reached out and wrapped her hand around his neck, drawing out a surprised gasp from him, and there was a thunder without sound. The air thrummed and pulsed, and Fili could feel the disturbance caused by a release of magical power even from this distance. The woman's blue eyes swirled black, and for a moment the wizard looked frightened. But then, he _laughed_. The woman looked shocked beyond belief. Whatever she had been trying to do, it hadn't worked. And she wasn't used to that. Maybe that had never happened before.

"Your powers won't work on me, Confessor." Fili's heart skipped a beat when the wizard called the pale woman a Confessor. This was Rahl's world then. The wizard punched her, and she dropped like a stone.

"Kahlan!" Moira yelled. She attacked the nearest soldier, fighting with her bare hands, but she was unarmed. The soldier stuck her face with the back of his armored hand. Moira staggered backwards, but quickly recovered and went back on the offensive. Two women dressed head to toe in tight red leather with heavily buckled corsets stuck Moira with what looked like leather-covered sticks, but when she screamed from their touch, it was plain they were some kind of magical weapon. The other two prisoners were plainly not fighters. They clung to each other and watched the scene in horror. A few more strikes from the magical weapons, and Moira was on her knees, unable to stand any longer.

"Wizard, are you all right?" the lead soldier asked the white-robed man.

"Take him," the wizard commanded the others.

"I'm sorry!" the soldier begged. "I didn't know she was a Confessor. She must have infiltrated the prisoners."

"Or she Confessed you," he retorted.

"If I were Confessed I'd be defending her life right now, as she was." He nodded at Moira as he said that, whose hands were being bound by one of his men.

Whatever "Confessed" meant, apparently the soldier had a point. The wizard scoffed at him and took a step closer to the soldier. "Your incompetence has provided me with an unexpected opportunity. With a living Confessor there will be no more failed experiments. I can finally give Lord Rahl what he truly wants."

The leather-clad women – who Fili realized then must be Mord'Sith – who had brought down Moira picked Kahlan up off of the ground and dropped her onto a wooden table in the center of the room. At the same time, the soldiers chained Moira and the other women to the wall. Rahl's wizard began to bind Kahlan to the table with leather restraints at her feet, waist, elbow and wrists, and across her shoulders. Then he swung the table where it was connected to a wheel until it was nearly vertical. When he started to tighten the leather strap around her neck that bound her to the now-upright wooden table, Kahlan finally came to. She started to struggle, but her movements were constricted. The wizard moved back just slightly. The scrawny man held up a finger and clucked his tongue in a condescending warning. "You're only going to hurt yourself."

Predictably, she continued to struggle anyway. The wizard did not seem surprised by this. "I couldn't have my creations turning against me, so I devised an elixir to protect me from the Confessor's touch." He pointed out a row of small vials filled with a thick, silver-colored potion on the table, next to a mortar and pestle and a few other supplies.

"That's impossible," Kahlan gasped.

"Not with the Shurkia." Other men would have smirked with the revelations this man was dispensing, but his attitude was simply cold and clinical. "We'd assumed they'd been lost forever, but…" He picked up a long, wicked-looking needle from the array of at least ten of them on the table and strolled over to Kahlan with it. He twirled it between his fingers as he spoke. Seeing him holding the long, thin needle, Fili realized that each of the leather bindings on the various points of Kahlan's body had a hole in it. He had a sickening suspicion that he hoped was wrong. The corrupt wizard continued, "A shepherd boy chased one of his flock into the caves of Caddock and uncovered the secret resting place of the greatest tools in all of alchemy. When word reached me of this incredible find I – I had to have them for myself."

Kahlan seemed to have the same suspicion that Fili did, because she renewed her fruitless struggling against her bindings then. Not that it stopped the wizard from his delight in sharing his twisted plans. "And with the Shurkia I've been able to combine magic in ways I never imagined. To do things not done for three thousand years. Wondrous things. Like creating a protection from your Confessor power. A power I'll soon be able to harness. And then, at last, Confessors will be just a memory."

"You're playing with ancient powers that you don't even understand," Kahlan said contemptuously. "I've seen your creations. Prisoners infected with dark magic."

"That will soon change," the wizard insisted. "Thanks to those D'Haran butchers, I've only been able to study the bodies of dead Confessors. But now I can use the Shurkia to harvest your powers and bestow them on Lord Rahl."

"Why would you want to _do_ that?!" Moira protested. It was the first time she had spoken up. "You must see how insane that is!"

The wizard merely shrugged. "He is the one who pays me."

"MONEY?" Moira practically howled. "You're betraying the Code of Aydindril for MONEY?! I mean it's one thing to do it because you _believe_ in his cause, but doing it for money makes you just a common highwayman. If Zedd were here, he'd roast your ass."

"The First Wizard isn't here," he sneered. "But Lord Rahl will be, in short order."

....................................................................................................................................................................

Fili knew instantly when Rahl entered, without someone having to announce it. He swept into the room, his blood-red robe trailing behind him, holding up a sword and smirking at Kahlan when he entered. Behind him two guards dragged an unconscious young man. Kahlan and Moira's eyes went instantly to the young man, calling him "Richard". He was this 'Seeker', then. The two soldiers walked to the wall opposite where Moira and the two other women were chained and tied the unconscious Richard into restraints hanging from the ceiling, pulling his hands above his head. As this happened, Rahl placed the sword he was carrying on a table in the corner. Fili realized that Richard had an empty scabbard buckled around his waist; clearly Darken Rahl had taken the weapon from him. The way he took a moment to gaze at it, almost in wonder, made Fili speculate that the sword itself must have some legendary power. Perhaps it was the weapon of all Seekers, and was passed down from one to another?

Somehow, Fili had expected Rahl to appear more monstrous, for the ugliness inside of him to be reflected outwardly. Yes, the aura of menace and command was palpable in the room, the power radiating off of him, but Lord Rahl _looked_ like any other Man. He was tall, even for Manfolk. Moira had described him as a wizard, but his muscular frame, the size of his arms bared by the sleeveless robe, and the way that he carried himself showed that he didn't need magic to be deadly; he was plainly trained in combat. His strong face was framed by dark brown hair that flowed to his shoulders, and his fierce blue eyes watched everything with calculating coldness. Actually, if Fili didn't know how vile he truly was, he would have described Darken Rahl as _handsome_. At least as far as Fili could judge such things. Knowing what he had done to Moira, the idea was nauseating.

"Richard!" Kahlan and Moira's cries had gotten loud and more desperate, as he was still out cold. Without turning around, Rahl gestured to one of the Mord'Sith with a few fingers of one hand. He said nothing, but she understood his silent command anyway. She glided over to where Richard was bound to the wall and punched him _hard_ , making him wake, gasping and aching and confused. When he saw Kahlan, the expression on the Seeker's face went from confused to worried to panicked in quick succession. "Kahlan!" Richard called out. He pulled against his restraints, but they didn't budge in the least.

"I know how this must pain you both greatly." Rahl's voice was smooth, deep, and smug. He finally abandoned Richard's sword and walked closer to his captives, continuing to speak in a cold tone of voice. "Seeing the one you love in such misery. Almost as painful as sharing an undying love which you can never consummate."

"And what would you know about love?" Kahlan sneered. "Except that you will _**never**_ feel it. From anyone."

Fili admired the Confessor's bravery. She had to be terrified, but she was hiding it well. Rahl watched her like a hawk for a long moment, his gaze predatory and … invasive, somehow. The other wizard walked silently over to the table and took up one of the bottles of elixir. The ones that protected him from Kahlan's powers. Fili had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Moira had not gone into detail about she had suffered at Rahl's hands, but she did say that Kahlan and Richard could never really understand … so that meant that what he feared _wasn't_ about to happen... right?

The white-robed wizard handed the vial to Rahl without a word.

"It's such a pity you never had a potion such as this…" Rahl held the vial aloft for just a moment, letting everyone in the room see it for just a moment, before he slowly brought the bottle to his lips and drank down the contents in one gulp. "…so that you could feel the soft touch of your lover's caress." He turned and locked eyes with Richard as he said that. "You motherless bastard," Fili whispered aloud, caught up in the drama before him. Rahl continued to talk slowly and tauntingly as he walked to stand directly in front of Kahlan: "Her tender, passionate embrace. Being unable to express your love for each other. Such a fate is unimaginable."

The Lord of D'Hara smiled, a small, creepy, predatory smile, as he reached out to stroke her hair. Kahlan turned away, looking into Richard's furious eyes, as both Richard and Moira threw themselves against their restraints, cursing and struggling. Rahl's voice was a smug purr. "But when we are finished, your touch will no longer be a threat to anyone."

Rahl finally took a step back, just to be replaced by the other wizard, who was holding one of the Shurkia needles. Rahl watched with fascination as the other wizard slowly inserted the Shurkia into Kahlan's wrist. "You have carried the burden of your powers for so long, Kahlan," Rahl spoke, and his voice was husky. She cried out, but got ahold of herself, biting her bottom lip to hold her cries in. "I'm going to lift that burden…" Rahl continued as another Shurkia needle was inserted and Kahlan cried out again. "…and take it upon myself." Fili realized Rahl's eyes were dilated. Was he … enjoying … watching this … _sexually?_ He was **_truly_** a monster.

"I won't need my powers to see through your lies," Kahlan spat the words with all the strength that she had, and for a moment, the Confessor reminded Fili of Moira.

"Kahlan, if you can really see the truth, you would know that all I want to do is end my people's suffering."

Fili snorted. Did he expect _sympathy_ from the woman he was torturing?! Kahlan couldn't help but cry out again, when the wizard inserted the Shurkia into the hole on her same arm, at the sensitive crook of her elbow. Tears were leaking from her eyes, and her cries were so pitiful that Richard was screaming "No!" and both he and Moira were thrashing at their bonds now.

Rahl ignored them both, his eyes focused intently on Kahlan's face, smiling almost peacefully as he spoke."And when I have the power of Confession, there will be no more war, no more strife. Only harmony and true, lasting peace."

At the same time, another needle entered Kahlan's body, making her scream again. And something else that Fili didn't expect: Moira started to laugh, long and loud. An expression of extreme anger passed over Rahl's face at the mockery. He turned away from Kahlan finally and began to stalk to where Moira was chained to the wall, his face as dark as a storm cloud. Moira only laughed harder. "Wow," she practically wheezed. "You're fucking _insane!_ That's not peace you're talking about, that's slavery. Is all this because you're desperate to be loved? You're **_pathetic_**."

Rahl looked absolutely infuriated, and for a moment, Fili was certain he was going to hit her. Instead, quick as a striking snake, he gripped her chin harshly and forced her face up so he could get a better look at her. "Ah, yes, Selyse, isn't it?" he sneered. "I've heard about you. But no one can actually tell me _why_ you are accompanying the Seeker. The Confessor has a purpose on the Seeker's quest, and so does the First Wizard. But you? What is it you _do_ , exactly? What makes you special enough to travel with the Seeker of Truth?"

"Oh me?" Moira asked innocently. "I'm nothing special, just a loyal grunt. I don't need to prove myself to you, just to Richard." Then suddenly her voice became low and dangerous. "But you've hurt my friends, so now, you can forget about the prophecy and Richard killing you. I'll kill you myself."

Rahl chuckled darkly, running his thumb under her lip. She tried to bite him, which only seemed to please him more. "You have spirit," he mused. "I'd enjoy breaking you, if we had time." Rahl said that as if it was a compliment, almost as if he thought they were _flirting_. He smiled a disturbing smile that said he was thinking of all sorts of nasty things, and his blue eyes glinted.

Moira spit in his face.

This time Rahl didn't control the rage that twisted his handsome features, making him truly resemble the monster that lurked inside him. He punched her, hard enough to make her head snap back against the stone wall behind her with a sickening crack. Fili growled at the same time that Kahlan screamed and Richard howled. _This is it_ , Fili thought. This is when Rahl gets Moira's scent. They're going to escape, but a monster like this is not going to forget that disrespect _._

__

__

Fili would have loved to have been proven wrong, but he wasn't. Rahl gripped Moira's chin again, even more roughly than before, and leaned down so that his face was directly looming over hers. "You're going to pay for your arrogance, _**whore**_ ," he snarled.

Moira's eyes were wide, and for the first time, her fear was plain on her face. But she stared back defiantly. The two women she was chained next to had been fearfully silent the entire time, trying to avoid catching Rahl's attention, and now the chains _clinked_ a little as they tried to lean just slightly farther away.

"But not today." Rahl's voice had gone back to the almost-peaceful tone. "Today is about Kahlan." Rahl released Moira now, and as he turned and walked away, he calmly and casually threw over his shoulder, "I may break you the old-fashioned way, even after I have the power of Confession."

"You won't succeed." Richard declared. "The people will rise up." He spoke with utter surety. "I may be dead, but another Seeker will take my place and destroy you."

Rahl smiled smugly and walked to Richard, who was already distracted from him by the awful sight of the white-robed wizard sticking another Shurkia needle into Kahlan's stomach. Richard grimaced when Kahlan once again cried out. Her face was covered with tears now. Rahl was standing before him, but he didn't pay his nemesis any attention at all. At least until Rahl calmly asked, "Why kill you when I can turn the Seeker into a devoted servant?"

That got the attention of all his prisoners, a gasp coming from Moira before she clamped her mouth shut. Rahl's smirk widened at the response, and the desperation on Richard's face. "You'll be the first one I Confess."

"No!" Kahlan screamed the single word with more force than Fili would expect from someone in her condition. She looked like a living pin-cushion; only one of the leather bands that bound her did not yet have an accompanying needle. When the vile wizard retrieved another Shurkia from the table, there was only one place for it to go: Kahlan's throat. Both Richard and Moira watched with overwhelming horror as the needle slid in. She couldn't even scream this time, but only gagged, tears streaming down her face. Fili was horror-struck by the sight. Rahl's wizard backed a few steps up, raising his hand as he did so. He started to chant.

Kahlan whimpered. The wizard continued to chant. Rahl watched with a creepy, pleased smile. Moira had tears in her eyes. Richard called Kahlan's name helplessly.

Then something started to happen. Kahlan began to shake, slightly at first, and then harder. The volume of the wizard's chanting rose. Kahlan continued to thrash violently. She seemed to have no control of her body.

"What is it, Giller?" Rahl demanded of the other wizard.

"I don't know, My Lord," the wizard – Giller, apparently – responded.

"She's seizing! Don't you medieval fuckers know what a seizure is?" Moira screeched. "What did you _do_ to her, you bastards?!"

Kahlan opened her mouth and started to scream – but it wasn't a scream of pain. No, Fili recognized it as a roar of rage. WHAT exactly was happening?! No one seemed to know. Moira's jaw had dropped, Richard's brown eyes were wide and confused, and Giller and Rahl started to look fearful for the first time. The Confessor's shaking and thrashing suddenly stopped, and now she looked eerily still. When Kahlan's eyes opened, they swirled through with a red hue, covered from iris to whites.

"The Blood Rage." There was real fear in Giller's voice now. "Run, My Lord!"

The Shurkia needles suddenly flew out of Kahlan's body and punctured into Giller, but deep into the vital organ-areas of his torso. He fell to the floor, instantly dead. Kahlan's red eyes looked crazed, and they were focused on Rahl now. He realized the danger he was in, yelling, "Kill her!" as he backed up.

Swords were drawn. Men in chainmail and women in leather all moved towards Kahlan. She broke one of the leather straps on her wrist, rose her hand in front of her. Once again, Fili felt the air thrum, the release of magical power making the air pulse. Four figures suddenly grunted and stopped in mid-step. Kahlan's eyes, still red, swirled black, then back to red. All four of their eyes swirled red-black before going back to normal. Fili was certain that Kahlan shouldn't have been able to do that; whatever exactly "Confession" was, several times mention had been made of the 'Confessor's touch'.

"Kill him." Her voice was cold. They all immediately obeyed her command, turning to their former Lord with their drawn weapons and attacking him instead of Kahlan. He barely drew his own sword in time. Fili's instinct proved correct; Rahl wasn't just a magic-user, but a deadly fighter. The fight was four-on-one, but Rahl not only held his own, but quickly dispatched the two soldiers, sending them crashing into the table. The anti-Confession elixir was smashed in the melee, its silver shimmery contents spreading on the floor. The Mord'Sith proved more formidable, but Rahl fought ferociously. Both of the Mord'Sith were on either side of him, striking him with their torture batons, their magic making a loud humming sound.

"Kill him," Kahlan commanded again.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Rahl grabbed a baton in each hand, twisting them away from his body. Kahlan was watching with cold intensity.

"Kahlan." Both Richard and Moira were calling her name. Richard sounded concerned, but Fili detected fear in Moira's voice.

Rahl punched one of the Mord'Sith, hard enough that her head slammed against the wall, and grabbed the other by her neck. Fili heard the crack of her neck breaking.

"Release the Seeker," Kahlan commanded as the dead Mord'Sith was dropped to the stone ground. The Confessed Mord'Sith ceased her attack on Rahl, doing as she was told. Rahl took the opportunity to hurry from the room, casting one last glare of absolute hatred Richard's way, which the Seeker returned tenfold.

When Richard raced out of the room after the retreating Rahl, and Kahlan ordered the Confessed Mord'Sith to free Moira and the two other women, Fili realized he had seen enough. He shook himself, and shut the door, trying to get the image of Kahlan's angry red eyes out of his mind. Or even worse, the horribly intimate threats Rahl had made to Moira,which Fili knew for a fact he would one day succeed in carrying out.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

Behind the next door, Fili recognized Kahlan and Richard, as well as a clean-shaven old man with long gray hair, whom he guessed was Zedd. But only Richard looked healthy. Moira, Kahlan, and the old man were stretched out on cots under a tent roof outside. Their skin was pale and waxy, dotted with black welts, and they were struggling to breathe. Richard was sitting next to Kahlan, watching her with obvious concern. He didn't notice when the old man had started to wake behind him. "She Confessed a sick man to save me."

Richard turned quickly to face them.

"It was stupid," Moira said. "I was already pulling them off of Zedd. We didn't _both_ have to die."

Richard frowned. "You're more than just gar fodder, Selyse," he said kindly. "Zedd, how long until you recover?" he asked the old man, confirming that he was the First Wizard.

"I was already weakened before the mob overcame me," Zedd wheezed as he spoke. "The Fire Fever has me now, Richard. I'm not going to recover."

Richard's eyes widened a little as the meaning of Zedd's words sank in. "I'm not going to let any of you die."

Richard looked over at Kahlan, still sleeping, her breaths difficult wheezes. The sight of Kahlan so weakened sparked something in Richard. Fili could see it, could see the love and concern turn to determination. He turned back to Zedd. "I'm going to force Rahl to give me the cure."

"How?" Zedd asked.

"I'm going to put the Boxes of Orden together."

"You can't," Moira gasped out. "The last time you did that, it made you a monster!"

"Kahlan is too weak to Confess you," Zedd managed. "And Selyse is right about the boxes. You've seen what they can do to you. You have to find another Confessor, go on without us."

"No. You'll have to go on without me." Richard sighed. His eyes were brimming over with sadness, but his jaw was set in a hard line. He pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. Fili squinted. It looked to him like a small nut. "I'm going to find Rahl, then I'll swallow the Alkalis Stone just before I put the boxes together. And with the power of Orden, I'll command Rahl to send the cure back to the valley, and then I'll kill him. And before I can turn into a tyrant, the Alkalis Stone will kill me."

"Richard, th – there must be another way," Zedd protested weakly.

"It's the only way." Richard shook his head sadly. "He'll be dead and I'll be dead. And everyone else will live."

Tears began to well up in the old wizard's eyes. "Dear boy…"

Moira began to cry as well. "No, I'm supposed to die for _you_ , not the other way around!"

Richard rose from the cot then, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, and he looked down sadly at Moira and Zedd. "The prophecy says the Seeker will defeat Rahl. It doesn't say he will live to be a wise old man like his grandfather." Fili took a sharp breath. He hadn't realized that Richard was related to the wizard. Zedd's tears came harder, and Moira's sobs were audible now. "You have to live, Zedd," he continued. His voice sounded strong, but he suddenly looked so young to Fili. "You're still Selyse's best chance for having a normal life. "

"No," Moira protested through her blubbering. "No, this has to be happening to me for a reason. I'm supposed to do something with it!"

"No, Selyse," Richard shook his head. His warm brown eyes looked infinitely sad, yet somehow he projected resigned strength and determination. "I'll save the Midlands, my grandfather, the woman I love, _**and**_ you, Selyse. No one ever thinks about you. You sacrifice yourself, in life after life, over and over, for the greater good. No one should have to keep going through that. When Rahl is finally out of the way, Zedd can dedicate himself to breaking your curse. Just … promise me one thing?"

"Anything."

"When Zedd does it – and he will – settle down." He smiled. "Live. Get married again. Have a family. Live a long, happy life." He cast a lingering look at Kahlan's unconscious form, and he didn't need to say the second part. _The life I won't be able to have with Kahlan_. Moira couldn't even answer him through her tears and sickly troubled breaths, but instead just nodded her consent. Richard gave the two of the team one last sad smile before he squared his shoulders and turned to stride quickly from the tent. The world went hazy, and then black, before Fili could even decide what to do. Indicating that she had passed out from this "Fire Fever".

Fili closed the door, thinking. He knew that Richard had managed to kill Rahl, twice. But Moira had never said anything about _Richard_ coming back from the dead. Did something happen that had changed their circumstances before he could swallow the poisonous Alkalis Stone? Fili had to assume that was the case. He sighed and continued down the passageway, looking for another door.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

It was dark beyond the next door, the fire was low, and most of the figures in the woodland camp were stretched out in their bedrolls. Faint snoring came from one of the taller, skinnier figures, his(?) long gray hair stretched out behind him. Zedd? Still Rahl's world, then.

Only one person in the camp was still awake. The woman sitting on the ground and staring into the fire was dressed in red leather, but without the heavily buckled corsets or wide collars of most Mord'Sith. Her straight blonde hair was shorter than that of the other Mord'Sith Fili had seen, and fell to her shoulders instead of being bound in the tight and severe braid that the others had worn. She matched Moira's description of Cara perfectly.

Moira emerged from the treeline, coming to stand by the other woman's side. Her brow was furrowed in concern and her voice soft. "Cara, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't need to be a Confessor to see that you're lying," Moira responded as she rolled her eyes. Fili agreed; Cara looked almost as if she was in pain.

"Confessors can't read Mord'Sith," Cara responded matter-of-factually.

Moira clucked her tongue. "Nice way to avoid the subject." Moira lowered herself to her knees as she circled to the front of the other woman. "Cara, you've been different since the wagon."

The blonde didn't answer, but looked away. The movement revealed various sores on her face that had previously been hidden by her golden hair. Moira gasped. "Oh, Cara," she sighed, reaching out to brush aside her hair and get a better look. "The blood that was on your neck ….. you were alone in the woods … that mercenary killed you." Fili's head spun with the revelation. Just how many people died and came back to life here? "You took the deal." Cara didn't protest, her eyes avoiding the shorter woman's. Moira sounded truly heart-broken. Fili wasn't sure _when_ exactly this was happening. Were she and Cara already lovers?

"I ..." Cara started to say something, but was interrupted when the fire suddenly flared up with unnatural force and power, turning glowing green as it did so. The hairs on the back of Fili's neck stood up as the flames grew to the height of a Man, and Darken Rahl appeared standing within them. Cara merely rolled her eyes at seeing him, as if she was not entirely surprised by his manifestation. Moira turned, and absolute hatred began to burn in her dark eyes as she recognized him.

"Hello Cara," Rahl nearly purred. "How are you enjoying working for me again?"

"I serve Richard," Cara retorted.

"You," Moira snarled. "YOU did this!"

"Cara made her choice freely. I cannot _force_ a soul to become baneling." Rahl's predatory smile said that he was enjoying this. "She fools herself into believing she did it for a good reason, to protect Richard on his little quest. But my banelings need to kill _every_ day."

In the blink of an eye, Rahl was crouching behind Cara, whispering into her ear.

"It's harder than you thought it would be, isn't it?" He gave a conspiratorial smile to Moira as he spoke to Cara, who appeared to be stoically ignoring him. But Fili could tell she was listening. "You still owe me a soul for today. You were lucky to find a nasty D'Haran to kill last night."

"Hunting, huh?" Moira muttered, a slightly bitter edge to the words. Cara's lips parted, as if she was going to respond, but once again she changed her mind and her mouth shut. Her eyes became unfocused as she ignored both Moira and Rahl. The latter smirked again. "Now here you are, leagues from the nearest town with nobody to kill." He spoke slowly, drawing each word out dramatically in his aristocratic lilt.

Cara didn't answer, but her eyes met Moira's. Moira backed away slightly. "Except us."

Rahl smiled at her from over Cara's shoulder. "Except you." He tilted his head slightly and his eyes gleamed as he watched her with interest. "Why aren't you more afraid?" Rahl asked.

Moira's hand had gone instinctively to the hilt of the sword buckled around her waist, and Rahl chuckled. "I'm already dead Selyse, so unless you plan to run Cara through, that won't do you any good."

A wordless snarl of rage came from Moira as her eyes burned into Rahl's, her fingers tightening and flexing at her side.

"You really are _**personally**_ offended, aren't you?" he taunted as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Is it just because of Cara's usefulness on this quest, or something else? You were being so _tender_ before." He said the word mockingly, like it was an insult. "Could it be love?" Darken Rahl was many things. Unfortunately for Moira, stupid wasn't one of them. Fili could see that the manipulative bastard was unusually perceptive.

In a flash, Rahl was standing in the fire again. "I'm prepared to offer you a way out."

Cara looked up at him, eyes squinted in suspicion.

"Tell me where the shadow water source is and you will never have to kill again."

Cara just smiled slyly. "I don't have to tell you anything." She enunciated each word clearly, a look of pure defiance in her fierce eyes. "That's not part of our agreement."

Rahl smiled a small smile that only lifted one side of his mouth. He turned his head slightly, his blue eyes lit by the eldrith fire as he spoke to Moira instead. "What about you, Selyse?" His voice was gentle and honeyed, cajoling. "You don't want Cara to die. She's about to rot in front of you, her skin sloughing off her bones, turning to dust. It would be such a waste, wouldn't it? That beautiful face, decaying into nothing." His voice took on a pleased and dangerous tone as he went on, "And then her soul will return to the Underworld, to the Keeper. To _me_." He let the implication hang in the air, before he made his offer: "You can save her from that awful fate."

"Don't tell him!" Fili saw the infuriated panic on Cara's face as she realized that the choice may not be up to her anymore.

"I'll still be generous," Rahl promised. "I'll allow Cara to live without having to kill every day to survive. Just a few words, and you'll be her savior."

"You'd be my betrayer. _Richard's_ betrayer. Selyse, don't." Their eyes met again, and Cara's were desperate. Moira's breathing had sped up a little, her chest heaving with panic as she considered the options. Fili could see the conflict that she was feeling, and knew that a part of Moira was tempted to save Cara's life. But whatever 'shadow water' was, giving it to Rahl couldn't be good. It didn't take her long to decide.

"Go back to hell," she sneered to Rahl. "Tell your master you failed."

"Very well." Rahl smirked in a self-satisfied way, as if he had not really expected Moira to give in to him. "But you may regret that decision. She is going to have kill one of you. I would have opted for old Thaddicus. He hasn't amounted to much in life; he never was any good to anyone. But _now_ , you know Cara's secret." The nasty smirk widened. "I may be seeing you in the Underworld very, very soon. I look forward to paying you back for your disrespect."

The fire flared up again, and the spirit of the tyrant they had killed disappeared. For a moment, Cara and Moira just stared at each other. Neither was sure what to do with what had been revealed. When Cara shifted just slightly, Moira instantly had a dagger in her hand, the sharp point aimed at Cara's heart. Fili saw the hurt in the Mord'Sith's eyes. "I wasn't going to hurt you!" she protested.

"There's something Rahl doesn't know." Fili felt his throat close up when Moira flipped the dagger around, offering the hilt to Cara. "I don't stay dead."

Cara gasped, but didn't respond. Moira moved to wrap Cara's leather-gloved hands around the hilt, her own hands around the Mord'Sith's, holding them there. "It's okay, Cara. One more death, just one."

"No..." Cara whispered. Her eyes widened, and she tried to pull away, but Moira pulled back. Cara's hands were shaking slightly. Hope and sorrow warred in her blue eyes. Fili saw something else in Cara's eyes, too: hunger. A primal need. But she was fighting it. Her voice was slightly stronger when she responded again. "No."

There were more sores on her face now; the gray rot was starting to creep forward across her skin, just as Darken Rahl had said it would. Her lips were cracked and parched-looking.

"Cara, please!" Moira begged. "We're so close. You can get to the shadow water spring and be cured."

A whimper fell from the blonde's lips as Moira lifted the knife to her own throat. "I've already died on a sword. More than once. I'm okay with this." Two pairs of hands were wrapped around the dagger hilt. Moira was watching Cara's face, and Cara's eyes were glued to the shaking blade at Moira's throat. It would be so easy ... "Just …. just make it fast." Moira begged her.

Neither of them noticed one of the figures stirring in their sleep behind them. Fili didn't recognize the old man who was suddenly blinking sleep from his blurry eyes, but he had to be 'Thaddicus'. Once he realized what was happening, he leapt out of his bedroll, bellowing, "Help! Zedd! Help! Help!"

His panicked voice brought Cara out of her trance, and she pulled away her hands from Moira's grip, finally. "No. I'm not going to kill you." Having been caught, Moira's fingers were suddenly limp as well. The dagger fell to the ground between them as Moira lowered her head in defeat. She nodded and stood, backing up. Cara remained on the ground.

The others were up and ready for battle in the time of the small exchange, Richard with his sword in hand, looking around. "What happened?" Nothing in the camp looked out of the ordinary.

"Cara's a baneling!" Thaddicus answered, voice tight with fear.

Richard's eyes widened, and his face became grim. He lowered himself, kneeling beside her as Cara looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears. Richard's mouth twisted and his brown eyes filled with sorrow and compassion.

"Cara…" Richard's voice was soft and anguished. "When?"

"Three days ago." Cara answered him. "I've already killed twice."

"You died in that fight with the driver," Zedd realized.

"Rahl offered you the deal," Kahlan nearly moaned in horror.

"I _**asked**_ him to make me a baneling," Cara corrected her.

"Why?" Kahlan sounded shocked, even appalled. But Cara scoffed, as if that should be obvious as she stood and looked at Kahlan. "I _**had**_ to get back! To tell you where the kidnappers had taken the captives." Her eyes beseeched Kahlan for understanding, her voice imploring.

But Kahlan didn't look as if that answer satisfied her. Or maybe it was just the shock; Cara's entire face was gray now. She looked more and more like a walking corpse.

She turned to face Richard. "And I had to protect you. **You** , Richard." Her voice broke, but she refused to let the tears in her eyes fall. She took a deep breath, obviously trying to steel herself. "But I'm no use to you like this. I almost killed Selyse!" Cara gestured toward where Moira was standing with her arms wrapped around herself, her face was a picture of pure misery. But Richard looked determined. He took a step closer to Cara. "I was looking at the map, there's a faster way to the source."

The Mord'Sith shook her head, not saying anything. But Richard wasn't ready to let her give up. "A canyon pass, we'll get you the shadow water."

"Even if it was only a thousand paces, I won't make it." Fili could see the truth of her words. Every moment bought her closer to death.

"Kill me," Moira spoke up. All their eyes turned to her now. Shocked didn't begin to describe the expressions on their faces. "Death doesn't last for me! I'll just wake up somewhere else. If it buys Cara enough time to get the shadow water, then it's worth it."

"You're not expendable, Selyse!" Richard seemed enraged by the implication.

"Yes I am! We all are!" Moira protested. "Defeating the Keeper is all that matters! But I'm _**MORE**_ expendable than any of you!"

"No." Cara shook her head, cutting off the brewing argument. "It may not work, if your soul doesn't go to the Keeper. And even if it did, I-I don't want to live with the memory of killing you. You - You're my friend."

Cara choked on the last word, and she turned away from Moira, who had tears leaking from her own dark eyes now. Cara held one hand out to Richard, almost in supplication, before she waved away her own gesture. "Please, just go." She turned away from them, and even walking away appeared to have gotten more difficult. "I don't want you to see me like this."

Cara sat on a fallen tree, and Fili noticed her pick up Moira's fallen dagger, holding it gingerly, her red-gloved fingers sliding along the blade as her eyes filled with wistfulness.

"Is there anything you can do?" Kahlan sounded desperate when she turned to Zedd. But Fili knew what his response would be when he saw the serious expression on the old wizard's strangely beardless face.

"Banelings are created with the magic of the Underworld. Few possess that power, let alone the ability to reverse it." The wizard left Kahlan and walked to Cara, addressing the dying woman with sorrow. "I do not have any power to help you, I'm sorry."

Richard, Kahlan and Moira followed Zedd, as if realizing that this would be the last time they could see their friend. They all gathered around her, sorrow and dread filling their faces. The other member of their party, this Thaddicus, was standing back further from them out of respect for their grief. It was plain that he didn't have the same bond that the other four did with Cara; it was likely he was not a frequent traveling companion.

Kahlan knelt to Cara's level. The Confessor put her hand on Cara's shoulder, and her striking blue eyes were earnest and sad as she offered what little solace she could. "May the Creator watch over you." Cara looked shocked by the concern that Kahlan was showing her. But from what Moira had told Fili about how Mord'Sith were created, that was hardly surprising. He doubted that Cara had experienced much kindness in her life. No wonder she was now so dedicated to Richard and his mission. From what little Fili had seen of this world, the Seeker was exceptionally kind.

"I'll pray to Odin for you." Moira's voice was small, and she didn't try to stop the tears now, even as they were also streaming down Cara's rotting face.

Thaddicus had been hanging back, but now he walked over and moved to kneel in front of Cara, between Richard and Zedd. He took her hands in his. "You're a good person, Cara Mason."

She scoffed in disbelief. "How can you say that?"

Thaddicus smiled sadly. "You did what you did out of an honest desire to protect the Seeker. And even when Selyse was offering her life in exchange for yours, you wouldn't take it."

Fili realized what Thaddicus was planning to do a split second before he did it. He gripped Cara's hand, still holding Moira's dagger, and pulled it forward, impaling himself on the blade.

"No!" Zedd's yell was a desperate howl of despair. "Thaddicus!" Moira gasped and covered her mouth in shock. "No!"

Only a shocked gasp of "No..." came from Cara as Richard and Zedd rushed to the old man who had just killed himself.

"Thaddicus! Why?!" Zedd's wail cut Fili to the core. _They're family_ , he realized numbly. Thaddicus was not nearly as skinny as the wizard, but now that Fili was looking for it, the resemblance was striking. The wizard's brother fell to the grass, dead. Cara panted slightly, sucking in lungfuls of air as right before everyone the sores on her face began to melt away, the gray, dead rot leaving only healthy, flushed skin in its wake.

"Give him the breath of life!" Zedd demanded, turning to the suddenly healthy-looking Cara.

Her eyes were wide, as if she still hadn't processed what had just happened. "I lost that power when I became a baneling." Cara clearly wasn't used to feeling this helpless.

"If you drank from the source, maybe you would get that power back." Richard turned to his grandfather. "Zedd?"

"It-it stands to reason," Zedd responded.

Richard nodded, that steely determination setting in. "Cara and I will run. Kahlan, Selyse, help Zedd with Thaddicus. Follow us as fast as you can."

..........................................................................................................................................................................

Behind the next door was another woodland path, somewhere in the Midlands. The Seeker's normal party of Richard, Kahlan, Zedd, Cara, and Moira were being accompanied by another woman in red robes that Fili had never seen before.

A skinny woman in a dirty dress came tumbling out of the thicket not far from Moira's group, followed closely by … was that Darken Rahl, dressed in peasant rags?!

"Rahl?" Richard gasped out in shock, unsheathing his sword as he ran after him. Kahlan pulled out a dagger from her boot, as Moira soon had her own sword in her hand. Cara went for her agiels and Zedd raised his hands, no doubt preparing a spell of some kind.

"No, no! I'm not him!" The man started to protest long before Richard had reached him, throwing his hands up in surrender, as if he was used to being mistaken for the hated man in the Midlands. "I swear I'm not." The man _certainly looked_ like Rahl, but his voice was far more nasally and whiny than the Lord of D'Hara's. Richard, undeterred, held the tip of his sword to the terrified man's throat as he continued to protest, "I'm just some poor, dumb sod who looks like him."

"It's true," the skinny woman beside him spoke up, and Fili noticed bruises on her face. "I saw a Sister of the Dark summon the spirit of the _real_ Lord Rahl."

"I can't be him," the Rahl-lookalike said. "See, I'm not a spirit. Go ahead, touch me." He held out his hand to the confused-looking Richard. Richard squinted his eyes, watching the Rahl-double appraisingly, no doubt trying to figure out if this was some kind of trick. He pushed his sword closer, threatening, and the man with the unfortunate face was clearly getting jumpy and nervous. "But, not with that," he whined as he pointed at the tip of the sword.

During this confusing display, Cara had stalked closer with all the tightly contained power of a jungle cat coiled in her muscles.

"Nobody needs to touch you, it's obvious you're not Rahl," Cara sneered.

"He might not be _**Darken**_ Rahl, but he must be _**A**_ Rahl," Moira piped up. "We all know Panis Rahl couldn't keep it in his pants. That's why Richard and Jennsen are here. Richard, I think you just gained another half-brother." She clamped her hand on the taller man's back as she said that. "There's no other way to explain the resemblance."

Wait ... RAHL was Richard's half-brother?! Well that was ... novel. When had they discovered _that?_ Or had they known all along and Fili had just not seen enough to realize?

"Great, just what I need," Richard muttered. "More siblings."

"They do seem to pile up around you," Moira agreed.

"This Sister of the Dark, did she have a scroll with her?" Richard questioned the couple.

"Yes. Please, help us," the woman begged. "They're planning to kill Walter."

A quad of D'Haran soldiers, each on their own horse, soon came galloping up the path. After releasing a gale-force wind that blasted the soldiers off their horses, Zedd backed up to let the others take over. Cara, Kahlan, Richard and Moira each attacked a different soldier. The fight with the four D'Harans didn't last long. It was clear that this party had traveled and fought together for a long time, and they each know their roles. They worked well together, Fili observed a little wistfully.

"Thank you for saving us," this strange little man who looked like Rahl said. "We'll just be on our way now. We don't want to be any more trouble. Okay." Walter and the girl holding his hand tightly turned to leave.

"Oh, no you're not!" Moira cried out, to Fili's immense confusion.

"Absolutely right, Selyse," Zedd declared, hurrying to walk over to where Moira was now standing beside Walter and his woman. "He's staying with us."

Cara, apparently, didn't see whatever it was that Moira and Zedd had, and was intensely unhappy with that idea. "The Sister of the Dark is in that temple with the scroll. We need to go in and get it; we don't need extra cargo."

"Young people." Moira rolled her eyes. "Am I right, Zedd?" The affectionate way that the wizard looked at her told him that was an old joke between them. But Walter gave her another look, already confused by everything happening around him, and clearly more confused by Moira's joke at the expense of youth. But her friends, of course, would know that she was actually the oldest member of their party, even older than the wizard.

"Think about it," Zedd implored them. Three blank faces stared at them, and Moira sighed. "We had this adventure with Denna, remember?" she said. "When she killed Richard and put someone else in his body?"

There was a dawning look of horror on Richard's face, and Fili was starting to realize himself what must be happening. Zedd confirmed it for him. "Darken Rahl keeps a look-alike alive in his castle where he has summoned a Sister of the Dark to assist the Mord'Sith. He has all the magical ingredients he needs to return to the land of the living." And then he put his hand on poor Walter's shoulder. "In this man's body."

Walter clearly had not realized that had been Darken Rahl's plan for him. "W-What?!" he gasped out, shocked. Fili pitied the poor bastard. As if having the same face as the most hated man in the Midlands wasn't enough.

"We can't let him run off and risk Rahl recapturing him somehow," Zedd declared.

"We'll storm the temple, get the scroll and then we'll decide what to do with them," Richard decided. "You better burn these bodies, before Rahl sends them back as banelings."

Moira had mentioned that Zedd could shoot something called wizard's fire from his hands, but this was the first time that Fili had seen such a display of the wizard's power. Combined with the blast of air which had knocked the soldiers from their horses earlier,

it really showed that this skinny, frail-looking old man was far more than met the eye. Fili couldn't help but wonder how he and Gandalf would get along. Zedd started to turn away, obviously intending to burn the other bodies, but something unexpected happened.

The flames from the burning body suddenly turned a green color for a moment, and Fili tensed as they grew much higher than they should. He had seen this trick before. The flames reached the height of a Man, and the apparition of Darken Rahl, once the dreaded Lord of D'Hara, now the trusted emissary of the Keeper, appeared within them.

"What an unexpected pleasure to see so many old friends in one place." Dead or alive, Rahl knew how to make an entrance. "I must say Walter, I have seen you looking better."

Walter swallowed thickly and looked away, not saying anything.

"We know what you're planning to do to him, and we're not going to let it happen." Richard stepped up between them, blocking the path of his gaze.

Rahl gifted them with his patented, infuriating smirk. "Well, something tells me you'll do more than let it happen," he drawled smugly. "You're going to kill him for me too." Moira snorted, and poor Walter looked increasingly confused and scared, but Rahl continued laying bare his plan. "And then your new Sister of the Dark friend here will summon my soul into his body and Cara's lovely lips will blow the Breath of Life into my new lungs."

Cara's full lips twisted into a smirk, and her eyes had their own fierce, predatory light as she stalked closer to where the specter stood, snarling, "You're out of your mind."

"On the contrary, I'm thinking quite clearly." He focused his intense, steely eyes on Richard now. "Are you, brother? Or do I need to remind you that without the scroll of Valdair, you will never repair the Veil. The Keeper will win and every living person in this world will die. But, if you do as I ask, I will hand you the scroll personally."

"Suddenly you want to defeat the Keeper?" Richard asked scornfully.

"I want to live again," Rahl corrected him. "You of all people must understand that, brother. I miss the taste of a crisp apple. The warm press of a woman's flesh against my own." His eyes were first on Cara as he said that, but then flitted to Moira, and the hungry look in his cold blue eyes made Fili snarl out loud.

"But, I must admit being a spirit does have its advantages." He crossed his incorporeal arms and stroked his chin in mock contemplation. "For instance, I can appear to Sister Marianna much faster than you can get to the temple. I have but to command her to burn the scroll and your failure is assured. So, do we have an agreement, or don't we?"

..........................................................................................................................................................................

The sun was starting to slip behind the trees as Richard, Kahlan, Zedd, Moira and Cara discussed what to do. Rahl had disappeared, apparently giving them some time to make their decision. Walter and the girl with him, whose name Fili still hadn't heard, were sitting at the base of tree, while the Sister of the Dark was standing and staring at Kahlan with that ridiculously adoring expression of the Confessed, waiting for her commands.

"If we turn down Rahl's proposal the scroll will be ashes before we get to the temple," Kahlan was saying.

"Who says he'll give it to us if we do help him?" Moira protested.

"I never thought I'd say this, but that devious bastard has us firmly by our nethers," Zedd exclaimed regretfully.

"This is going to backfire." Moira shook her head. "He'll betray us as quick as lightning. It's who he is."

"Obviously." Zedd sighed. "But I don't think we have a choice."

I can't just kill Walter," Richard protested.

Fili noticed that Cara had cocked her head and raised an eyebrow at Richard, which he ignored. Clearly she didn't have as much of a problem killing the poor man as the others did.

Zedd thought for a moment. "Maybe you don't have to." Then he turned to Walter, asking him, "How attached are you to the body you were born with?"

Walter stood when Zedd spoke to him. The woman rose with him and once again held his hand tightly. "I'd do anything to have a different face," Walter wheezed hopefully.

Zedd sounded amused at Walter's choice of words. Fili had already realized what he was going to offer him. "I think that can be arranged."

"How?" Walter asked.

"We have the magical means to put your spirit into one of these bodies and bring you back to life."

Richard smiled at the solution that the wizard had offered him. "And put Rahl's spirit into Walter's body."

"Take your pick." Zedd gestured to the many bodies of the D'Haran soldiers around them. "Anyone you fancy, but be quick."

Walter stammered for a moment, and then looked to the skinny woman in the dirty dress, who was holding his hand tightly. "You choose, Mika."

"Me?" the woman, Mika, asked in surprise.

Walter nodded, and he spoke with a gentleness and earnestness that was strange to see on Rahl's face. "Yeah. If I am going to have a new body, I-I want one that pleases you."

The sickeningly cute couple walked off to go shopping among the dead bodies. _Mahal_ , but this world was strange!

"Zedd, Selyse is right," Richard said as he faced his grandfather. "Once we give Rahl his new body, we can't just trust him to bring us the scroll back."

"You could Confess him," Cara suggested, looking at Kahlan.

"Rahl's soul is immune to Confession," Kahlan said, shaking her head.

"Damn it, really?" Moira sighed. "That elixir was a physical thing, how in Odin's name did it affect his _soul?_ "

"But might be another way," Kahlan said thoughtfully. "We have a Confessed Sister of the Dark on our side."

The sun was fully behind the horizon and the sky dark when Walter started to lay himself down next to one of the dead soldiers as the others all stood around him. Somehow it seemed more appropriate to Fili that they would be raising the dead in the dark than the pure light of day. "Are you sure this is gonna work?" Walter asked, his voice wavering significantly. Justifiably, Fili thought.

"I went through it myself and it worked fine," Richard told him calmly. Fili hadn't seen that, but the matter-of-fact way that Richard spoke about it was unnerving. This world was _insane_.

"Okay." Walter nodded and laid down.

Kahlan handed one of her daggers to Richard. Walter was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable and nervous. Who wouldn't be? He tried to sit back up, but Richard had a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Is this going to hurt?" Walter's voice was a fearful whimper. Despite looking remarkably like Darken Rahl, he couldn't be less Rahl-like if he tried.

"I'll try to make it quick," Richard reassured him."

Walter nodded. "Okay," and laid back down. Richard raised the dagger high, but Walter fidgeted again, bursting out a loud, "Um!"

Richard stopped, sounding slightly annoyed "What?"

"D-D-Does it really have to be a knife?" he stuttered out.

Moira knelt beside the panicking man now. Despite the eye-rolling from some of the others, Fili couldn't really blame Walter for his panic.

"Listen Walt, I've died several times, it isn't that bad," Moira told him.

"It's not?" he squeaked as he looked up at her.

"Nope," Moira assured him. "Knife to the heart is one of the better ways to go, trust me."

"Just sit back and try to relax," Richard said.

Walter was actually panting and squeaking in his fear. It was strange to see that reaction on Rahl's face, and a small, dark part of Fili that he didn't want to examine too deeply enjoyed it. But only if he imagined that it really was Rahl who was so afraid. Walter clearly didn't deserve this.

"Take a deep breath," Richard said gently.

Cara had clearly gotten fed up. She knelt and stabbed Walter herself, without saying a word. "That's one way to do it," Moira sighed. Richard rolled his eyes slightly, as if unsurprised, and handed the unused dagger in his hand back to Kahlan.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Cara crowed as she pulled the knife from Walter's chest. Walter made a small grunt of pain, and the others stood and moved away as Mika rushed to Walter. "Don't be afraid Walter," she told him. "I'm right here."

He died after only a few breaths. The Confessed Sister started chanting something that Fili didn't recognize, but he didn't need to know the language to recognize the presence of magic. Whatever she was doing hung heavy in the air, changing the very structure of the world around her. An ethereal, green, misty light rose out of Walter's body. The Sister of the Dark continued to chant, waving her hands in the hair, and the green mist moved and hovered over the body of the dead soldier, before lowering into its new home.

"Now," the red-robed Sister nodded to Cara.

Cara knelt beside the soldier's body, leaning her face above the corpse's, her lips a hair's breadth from his, and she … sighed. Fili could see a small amount of glowing, golden energy leave her lips and enter the open mouth of the dead soldier. The Breath of Life. The body took a deep, shuddering breath, color returning as the eyes opened. "Mika, it's me," Walter spoke, in his new, youthful voice, before Mika threw her arms around him.

The Confessed Sister started to chant again, this time over the discarded shell of Walter's old body. While she was occupied, Mika helped the new Walter up and they moved out of the way. If this worked again, they obviously weren't going to want to tangle with Darken Rahl. This time the green mist rose from under the body, clearly summoned from the Underworld. It enveloped the body of the dead Rahl-lookalike, and when the Confessed sorceress finished chanting, the soul-mist, or whatever it was, slammed down into the corpse.

Everyone in the clearing held their breath. Once again Cara leaned down and breathed the Breath of Life into the waiting corpse. The body that had been Walter's took a deep breath, and sat up. The smug smirk on his face made it clear that this was not Walter anymore, but Darken Rahl. The tyrant was back among the living. Moira had said that he had found a way to be resurrected, but she hadn't told Fili that he had forced her and her friends to perform the ritual. They had no choice if they wanted to save the world, but it was, ironically, this choice that would eventually lead to Moira's downfall. _She must blame herself for every life he's taken since this moment_ , Fili realized. Even though there _was_ no choice, even though Richard and the wizard reluctantly agreed, Moira always acted as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders alone. She had probably spent endless hours examining this day, trying to figure out what she could have done differently. She carried so much that she didn't have to.

Rahl lifted his hand, stretching the fingers out as he looked at it, and then ran his fingertips over his lips in that odd habit that he had. "Ah, it's good to be back," he purred. Everyone was glaring at him, loathing plain on their faces, but he paid it no mind as he looked up at the moonlit night sky above him, clearly pleased that his plan had worked. "I knew you'd do the right thing, brother."

Fili saw Kahlan give a minute nod to the woman who had just performed the resurrection, her Confessed Sister of the Dark. Without missing a beat, she flung a metal …. something at Rahl. After it had embedded itself in his side, Fili saw that it was a strange three-sided weapon shaped vaguely like a star. Richard stepped closer.

"Sister Tyra is going with you to the temple," Richard said, and his normally warm brown eyes were hard. "Now, you're going to get the scroll and bring it straight back. Otherwise, she'll release the magic of the dacra and you'll be dead again in a heartbeat."

"This really wasn't necessary," Rahl drawled. "I would've done exactly as I promised."

"Well, I won't have to take that on good faith now, will I?" Richard retorted.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

It was high noon now. This temple that Rahl had been going to must have been some ways away. He finally came strolling up the path, still wearing Walter's peasant rags and worn black cloak, but looking as arrogant and regal as ever, one of his hands cradling his side where the dacra was still embedded. Fili hoped it was extremely painful. Behind him walked Sister Tyra, keeping a watchful eye on him, as well as leading a pair of horses pulling a carriage. When Richard's party came to meet them, Rahl's customary smirk pulled at his lips.

"Do you have the scroll?" Richard asked.

With a smile Rahl held up a leather tube, which Fili assumed contained this scroll. He practically strolled over to Richard, as if he was out for a walk in the gardens of the People's Palace. "I think you'll find it interesting reading. I know I did." Of course he had read it. What was his game, though?

"Hand it over." Richard's voice was uncharacteristically cold.

"Of course, brother." And Rahl was being oddly genial. "But, in case your plan is to have your pet Sister of the Dark here kill me once I relinquish it, you should know that I will then be forced to tell the Keeper what is written on the scroll. And then he will know exactly where you'll be going next."

Richard shoot a look over to Kahlan. Clearly that had been their original plan.

"I'd imagine he'd send an army of banelings to greet you."

Richard sighed in frustration. "You win. She won't release the magic. Now give me the scroll."

Rahl handed the scroll to Richard, and then he looked down to the magical weapon still embedded in his side.

"Now, get this thing out of me," Rahl demanded.

"I'm thinking maybe we should leave it in," Richard said. "You're much more cooperative this way."

Rahl looked surprised, and also somewhat impressed, at the betrayal, as if he hadn't expected Richard to display such guile. But if he had some snarky comeback, he never got to share it. Suddenly there was an arrow in Sister Tyra's chest. Fili followed where it must have come from, and he saw a Mord'Sith holding a bow. Armored D'Haran soldiers poured over the hillside, yelling out their battle cries. Rahl simply stepped away from Richard as he focused on the soldiers rushing him. Kahlan and Cara took on the Mord'Sith, while Richard and Moira with their longer swords fought the armored soldiers. Zedd released that impressive fire from his hands, seemingly randomly, and Fili wondered how he didn't accidentally hit any of his friends in the melee.

Through the fray, Fili noticed Walter, in the new body of the previously dead D'Haran soldier, and Mika had snuck over to the carriage. They climbed up to the top, Walter snapped the reins, and the horses rode off. The battle didn't last as long as it should have. Suddenly there were less Mord'Sith than there should have been, as if they had just decided to leave, or were ordered to. Fili could no longer see Rahl. Richard finished off the last soldier, and for a moment he watched the wagon carrying Walter and Mika racing down the trail as fast as it could go.

"Walter's getting away with the treasure," Cara pointed out.

"We have no use for it, let them go," Richard ordered.

"You'd think one day we'd get paid," Moira muttered. Cara raised her eyebrows at her, seemingly in approval, but said nothing. She seemed to be the only one who noticed Moira's dissent, anyway.

Kahlan looked around, and then frowned. "They're not the only ones who got away."

Richard sighed. "Rahl's gone too."

"We can track him," Cara proposed, apparently itching to hunt down her former master.

Richard,though, seemed only concerned with the leather tube in his hand, and opened it and pulled out a parchment.

"Maybe, but we didn't come for Rahl." Richard rolled opened the ancient-looking parchment. "We came to find out what we're supposed to do with the Stone of Tears."

"What does it say?" Zedd asked eagerly.

"The instructions inscribed upon this scroll will only appear in the glow cast by a Night Wisp."

Kahlan sighed and actually rolled her eyes. Both Cara and Moira looked stunned for a moment.

"All this trouble and the instructions are invisible?" Cara exclaimed. Moira was much louder in her displeasure. "ODIN'S BEARD, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!" Moira bellowed. She started to pace, waving her hands wildly as she ranted. The others watched her, and Cara in particular was smirking and nodding in agreement with Moira's agitation. "First, we have to find a locket guarded by mocks, which lets out a magical ink that imprints a rune onto the bearer's palm! This magical rune has to be taken to a certain crypt THOUSANDS OF LEAGUES away, which dissolves the crypt door and gives us a compass that only works in the hands of the Seeker, which is supposed to lead us to the Stone of Tears which is capable of sealing the rift to the Underworld. But after three months of tramping all over the Midlands, we neither have the Stone, nor any idea how to use said Stone, which is why we had to hunt down this fucking scroll, ALSO hidden in a crypt, and we're chased by Sisters of the Dark the entire way, and then the instructions are FUCKING INVISIBLE?!" Moira finally ceased her pacing and threw her hands up in disgust. "How many ridiculous steps is this quest going to have?! I'm about done with this high fantasy bullshit!"

"Calm yourself, Selyse." Zedd came to stand beside her, the tall wizard placing a hand on her shoulder. The staggering height difference between them made her fury almost comical. "There are reasons for each step. Kahlan's tiny friends only come out for those with the purest intentions. In this way, it can be assured that the Stone is not misused, even if the scroll should have somehow fallen into the wrong hands."

"FINE," Moira huffed in clear annoyance.

Richard sighed. "Well, I guess we know which way we're headed."

"So does Rahl," Kahlan said, the worry evident in the tone.

"Yeah, but, he definitely doesn't have pure intentions. So, we're good, right?" Moira asked. Fili doubted it, very much.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

"They're all dead." Fili could detect an overwhelming sorrow in Kahlan's voice as she took in the burnt forest around her. Whoever or whatever these Night Wisps were, they had meant a lot to her.

"Maybe some of them escaped," Richard tried to comfort her, but it was clear that he wasn't sure if any of them had.

"Even if they did, where would they go?" Kahlan looked like she was going to cry.

"Kahlan," Richard grabbed her hand and looked into her sorrowful eyes, "if there's another Night Wisp alive in the world, we'll find it."

Cara scoffed. "Good thing we don't have anything else to do, like find the Stone of Tears."

"Without the scroll we won't know what to do with the Stone," Kahlan pointed out, poking at a burnt tree branch, tears in her eyes. "It'll be useless."

"Kahlan, we'll figure something out," Moira tried to comfort her friend. "We always do."

Fili cocked his head to the side. What was that strange sound? He could hear a kind of humming chirp coming from somewhere up ahead. Was that important?

"Shh. Quiet, did you hear that?" A note of hope came back into Kahlan's voice. She began to carefully walk in the direction of the strange, twittering chirp, her face awash in relief. "One must've survived."

"Careful," she cautioned the others as she went. "Don't scare it off."

They proceeded slowly and quietly, following Kahlan towards the toward the sound. Kahlan was smiling for the first time since they had come to the destroyed forest. The newly-resurrected Darken Rahl walked out of the smoke. He was wearing a simple peasant's cloak, but somehow managed to look just as regal and imposing as ever. Richard rushed to stand in front of Kahlan, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

"Are you looking for this?" Rahl smiled his typical nasty smile as he held up a small glass bottle that was glowing blue. Fili realized that the humming sound that Kahlan was following, was emanating from the bottle. Rahl lifted the ornate lid of the delicate-looking bottle, and a small glowing blue ball flew out. But whatever it was didn't get far, because Rahl's other hand shot out and caught it in a tight fist. Kahlan couldn't hold back a worried gasp. Clearly the glowing, humming thing in Rahl's hand was a Night Wisp.

"Give me the scroll of Valdair," Rahl demanded. "Or the last Night Wisp dies."

"I _told_ you," Moira muttered. "I told you this would backfire."

The wizard's hand shot out, and Zedd's eyes were focused intently on Rahl.

"I wonder if you can throw a wizard's web faster than I can crush my little friend here, Zeddicus." Rahl's voice was soft but deadly. "They're very delicate, you know."

"Zedd." Richard gently touched his grandfather's arm, and the wizard lowered his hand, obviously reluctant. "What do you want with the scroll?"

"The same as you, dear brother." Rahl gave him a self-satisfied grin, one slightly larger than normal. "To save the world. I've already betrayed the Keeper to do so. He expects me to annihilate every Night Wisp and then return to the Underworld. But, I have no intention of going back. I'm going to join your little quest."

Kahlan and Moira scoffed simultaneously, but Rahl ignored them and continued with his speech. "And when you find the Stone of Tears you will give it to me, and I will follow the instructions on the scroll and heal the rift."

"So you can be hailed as the world's savior," Cara stated, her eyes fierce and angry.

"Yes," Rahl purred. He clearly had them all trapped. AGAIN. This was infuriating! "The Keeper is impatient; he wants the world of life snuffed out, and quickly. Which is why you must give me the scroll now so I can prevent that from happening."

"And we should trust you, WHY?!" Moira demanded.

"Don't you realize you've already doomed the world by destroying the Night Wisps?" Kahlan's voice was filled with as much despair as hatred.

"Wait, what?" Moira spun on her heel towards Kahlan at that, clearly shocked at the Confessor's declaration.

"You've never paid attention to the stories, Selyse?" Rahl clucked his tongue as if he were reprimanding a child for not doing their schoolwork, but his cold blue eyes were alight with interest. "I assure you they're all true."

"They tell different stories where I'm from," Moira said as she turned back, reminded of who – _what_ – she and her party were facing down.

"And where, exactly, is that? Where in this world are they unaware of the importance of Night Wisps?"

"You'll never know," Moira spat.

Rahl simply smiled, as if he was already planning how he would eventually discover all of her secrets. She stared back defiantly. Fili, of course, knew that eventually he would succeed in ripping all of her secrets from her. "Well then, allow me to educate you, since my brother has done such a poor job of it," Rahl purred smugly. "The Night Wisps are the most vital link in the chain of life. Their demise would bring about a cascade of extinction that would eventually result in the death of everything that lives and breathes."

Rahl looked down on the group, and he waited to let the meaning of his words sink in for Moira. When the horror on her face made it clear that she realized the magnitude of what had just happened, he slowly drawled, "Which is why I saved this particular Wisp."

The mad tyrant looked down at his hand meaningfully and then back up, eyes locking with Kahlan's this time. "It's with young."

Kahlan sucked in a breath, her anger transforming into protectiveness of the Wisp Rahl held captive. The recently resurrected tyrant went on, "It can give birth and life can go on. If, you honor my simple request and give me the scroll." Cara wasn't ready to give in, even with the stakes so high. "Let him crush it. We'll find another one." Fili wasn't entirely sure it was a bluff.

"There's my Mord'Sith," Rahl chuckled darkly. "No sentimental attachments. But, if I know my brother, he's not willing to risk the fate of the world on such a slim chance. What do you say? Since we're on the same side now, we may as well be partners."

"How do I know you won't kill her as soon as I hand you the scroll?" Richard demanded.

Rahl gave him a cold response. "Well, you can be certain that I **_will_** kill it if you do not."

Fili absolutely believed him. Rahl lifted his closed fist up to his ear, making a show of listening for the tiny creature's hums and chirps. "She's awfully quiet." He smiled smugly at his half-brother, as Richard slowly walked forward. Richard handed the scroll to Rahl. He carefully unfurled the ancient paper, holding the glowing Wisp over it as he did so. Rahl smirked again as he looked at the parchment, so clearly the invisible writing had appeared.

Rahl made a pleased-sounding noise at the back of his throat. "My, it seems that I am the only living soul who knows what to do with the Stone of Tears."

The secret of the scroll revealed, he opened his hand, and the Wisp flew immediately toward Kahlan. She very gently cupped her hands around the Wisp, and Fili was not surprised at all that while she was occupied, Rahl threw the ancient parchment into one of the nearby, still-burning fires.

"No!" Richard yelled out and shoved Rahl against the burnt remains of a tree, gripping his dark cloak tightly in his anger. His eyes were practically burning with fury.

"Now is this any way to treat the newest member of your merry band?" Rahl spoke slowly and calmly. "Relax brother, I have the knowledge, you have the compass. Together, let's save the world."

Richard released him but gave him a rough shove.

"Now, let's find that Stone," Rahl intoned smoothly.

Kahlan wasn't able to look at Rahl anymore. Instead she turned to Zedd. "The Night Wisps only give birth in the grotto of the northern foothills. If I don't take her there she, and her babies, will die."

"You'll have to go through gar territory," the wizard told her seriously.

"Cara, go with her," Richard said, without taking his eyes off Rahl. "The compass is taking us northeast. We'll travel together as far as Elmswood Pass, then you and Kahlan will take the Night Wisp to the grottoes. We'll search for the Stone." Fili noticed that Richard's nostrils flared slightly on the word 'we'. "Selyse, bind him," Richard growled.

"With pleasure." Moira gave Rahl a wide smirk as she approached him with a length of rope, and the tyrant's own smirk faltered a little. Richard gave him a look of absolute hatred as he said, "I want the newest member of our merry band on a short leash."

.......................................................................................................................................................................

Rahl was walking down the path flanked by Richard on one side and Moira on the other, who was leading the tyrant by a rope tied to his hands. Behind them walked Kahlan, the glow from the last surviving Night Wisp emanating from between her cupped hands, Cara beside her.

"I can't help but notice that the wizard has disappeared," Rahl commented, echoing Fili's thoughts about the suspiciously absent Zedd. "How disappointing. I was looking forward to enjoying his renowned wit."

"You'll have to settle for mine." Richard shoved Rahl a little further ahead.

Rahl clucked his tongue a little at the small display of control, and his voice was like smooth velvet. "I know it must be very frustrating for you, brother. I wonder how you're planning to do it."

"Do what?" Richard tried to sound nonchalant, but it was obvious to Fili what Rahl meant. He doubted it had passed by Richard, either.

"Learn the instructions on the scroll, whatever else?" Rahl was calm, but his voice had a mocking twist to it. "Let's see, if I were you what would I do? Well, you can't Confess me as I myself am immune to Confession. And if you thought Cara could break me, you would've had her torture me by now. Oh wait, I just thought of something, perhaps you sent the wizard to get a Listener to read my thoughts."

Richard glared and turned away when they came to a fork in the road. "We're here," Richard said. "This is Elmswood pass."

Cara started down the path immediately, but then turned when she realized that Kahlan had not been following her. She hung back as Richard approached, and the Seeker took a hold of the hand that was cradling the Night Wisp. He sighed, gently rubbing his thumb on the outside of Kahlan's cupped hand, and the couple smiled at each other.

"I guess this is where we say goodbye," Richard said softly. Kahlan stepped closer to Richard and opened her mouth.

"Can we speed this up?" Cara interrupted the lovebirds, drawing a surprised but amused look from Kahlan. "She loves you, you love her, I should protect her as if she were you," Cara continued, while Moira tried to hold back a laugh. "Have I missed anything?"

Richard and Kahlan gazed at each other for another moment, not moving. Cara sighed in exasperation. "We could be halfway there by the time you two have finished your goodbyes."

"We'll catch up once the Night Wisp is safe," Kahlan said gently, trying to smile.

"Be careful," Richard cautioned his beloved.

"And you too," Kahlan said, looking past Richard to the devious tyrant that Moira still held leashed. The withering glare Kahlan shot Rahl as she walked past him would have been intense enough to reduce most men to shrinking away, even if she had not been a Confessor. Rahl only gazed back unblinkingly, smirking.

"Must be difficult," Rahl said smugly as he watched Kahlan and Cara walk away. "Being so close to the Confessor but unable to bed her." Fili heard the part that was left unsaid, _'but I could'_.

Richard shot him a glare but said nothing.

"No wonder you have the lovely Selyse along on your quest." His eyes met Moira's as he said that, and she just rolled her eyes. He turned to his brother to continue. "And now Cara as well. You are gathering quite a harem of loyal, beautiful young things, aren't you?" Rahl smirked. "Perhaps the Rahl blood is stronger in you than I had previously thought."

Richard snarled and grabbed Rahl's shoulder, pulling back his fist to punch him.

"Careful, brother," Rahl held up his still-bound hands to stop him. "You don't want to do anything that may cause me to lose my memory."

"You're right," Richard said after a moment. And he instead landed his fist in Rahl's stomach. Fili noted with satisfaction that the punch was hard enough to bend Rahl in half. Richard let go of his grip on his shoulder and let Rahl collapse to the ground, groaning.

"Richard isn't a pig like you," Moira said calmly, her lips quirking upwards. Rahl shot her a look of absolute loathing, one that said he planned to pay her back for every indignity he was currently suffering.

........................................................................................................................................................................

They were sitting around a fire, eating some kind of birds that were roasting on spits.

"How I have missed the simple pleasures of life," Rahl said with great relish as he bit into the roasted bird in his hands.

"Enjoy them while you can," Richard said with conviction as he poked at the fire. "Someday, maybe it's in a week or fifty years, you'll be dead again. And you will face the Keeper's wrath."

Moira nodded silently as she tore into her own meal.

"Oh, you're mistaken." Rahl sounded unbelievably self-assured as he spoke between bites of his food. "When the veil is repaired and the natural order of the Underworld restored, I will bask in the Creator's light, along with you and the Mother Confessor."

"You honestly believe that, don't you?" Moira sneered. "That you can just DECIDE to become a hero one day! What's wrong with you?!"

Richard's voice was filled with disbelief. "You've killed countless innocent people, how could you possibly believe that the Creator is going to _reward_ you?"

"When I seal the rift, not only will I be protecting those alive today, I'll be ensuring the lives of future generations." He smiled smugly. "Surely such a noble act will tip the scale of deeds in my favor."

"It's not a numbers game," Moira responded. The vein in her forehead was jumping and pulsing, and the remains of the bird she had eaten was tightly clutched in her hand, leftover grease oozing over her fingers, evidence of her barely-contained fury. "People are valuable in themselves, not just as a means to an end. You committed GENOCIDE, you MURDERED an entire RACE just so we'd be forced to work with you!"

"The only reason you want to save the world is to save yourself," Richard said. He was expressing the same sentiments as Moira, but much more calmly. "That's not noble. You don't care about anyone."

"Intention matters," Moira agreed. "And if my Gods can look into my heart, I'm sure your Creator Goddess can too."

"Selyse," Richard warned, at the same time that the interested, sinister spark came back to Rahl's cold eyes. " _ **Your**_ Gods? And what Gods are those, pray tell?"

Moira's mouth was open, but whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of screaming. Moira turned to look for the source of the sound at the same time as Richard. _These Sisters of the Dark have no subtlety_ , Fili thought as the red-robed women rushed into battle. _They could have used the distraction of their prey and snuck up on the three, but of course they never had used sensible tactics before, so why start now?_

Richard and Moira stood, eyes widening, as they took in the sheer number of their opponents. There was somewhere over a dozen of them, by Fili's count. A dacra came flying through the air, aimed for Rahl's heart. Richard pushed him out of the way, barely moving him in time. The weapon still managed to slice through the skin of its target's arm. The wound wasn't bad, but was more than a simple scratch. Rahl was sitting up to inspect the damage, but Fili couldn't care less about Rahl's pain. His eyes were focused on where Moira and Richard were standing, nearly back to back, swords drawn. More dacras were flying through the air, and Richard moved with impressive swiftness, deflecting the magical weapons with his own (which Fili had recently discovered was called the Sword of Truth, and did indeed have magical powers which worked only when wielded by the Seeker of Truth).

Rahl stood up in the middle of the battle, hands still bound, standing calmly. Fili eyed him suspiciously, wondering what he was up to. When a dacra was flung at him he continued to stare it down, to Fili's increasing confusion. Rahl twisted out of the way at the last moment, but held his hands up so that the sharp, spinning weapon cut the rope binding his hands together. Fili was impressed, despite himself. That particular move had to be precisely calculated, or Rahl would have lost a hand. He then picked up the knife that had been sitting by the fire. Moira turned with a snarl when she saw Rahl rushing towards them with a weapon, raising her own sword in response. A dacra was just about to hit Richard, and neither of them had seen it. Rahl flung himself in front of the two, deflecting the dacra with the blade of the knife. When it fell to the ground, he picked it up to wield in one hand while he held the knife in the other. Richard and Moira were both a little taken aback, and Moira's mouth had fallen open as she stared, trying to process this turn of events.

"I told you I'm on your side," Rahl said smugly.

There wasn't time for either Richard or Moira to respond. They had a more immediate enemy. Once again Darken Rahl demonstrated his impressive fighting skills, but this time he was fighting alongside his former (or still current?) enemies. They were surrounded by Sisters of the Dark on all sides, and forced to fight in a three-way formation that had their backs close together, Rahl on one side and Richard on the other of Moira, making the three into a tight triangle of deadly flashing steel. Between the three of them, it didn't take long to dispatch nearly all of their attackers. One of the Sisters had been merely standing back and watching during the altercation, and now she turned and fled.

"I always knew we'd make a great team, brother," Rahl drawled as Richard and Moira looked around them at the corpses littering the ground.

.....................................................................................................................................................................

They were no longer at the clearing littered with the bodies of the dead Sisters of the Dark. Richard was reluctantly treating the slice on Rahl's arm, wrapping a bandage around his half-brother's bicep.

"A bit ironic isn't it?" Rahl commented. "The man who killed me going to such lengths to keep me alive."

"The cut isn't deep, it'll heal." Richard turned away from him, handing the jar of salve and extra bandages to Moira, who carefully put them into Richard's pack, as Rahl looked down at his arm and scoffed. "Your brotherly affection is touching."

Richard turned back and gave Rahl another of the disbelieving stares that had been aimed at him many times today. "Who do you think you're fooling with this ruse?"

"You were always so quick to think the worst of me, brother." Rahl sounded sad, as if he thought he was the victim in this little tale! Moira scoffed, shaking her head at Rahl's self-involvement.

"You had the man who raised me murdered," Richard said in disbelief and disdain. "And now you've nearly destroyed an entire race of creatures, all so you can get the glory of saving the world?"

"Don't forget making us watch as he tortured Kahlan," Moira added with a sneer. "And threatening to torture me."

"And you wonder why we think the worst?" Richard exclaimed softly.

Rahl's smile was almost sad. "No, you're right, of course." Rahl was being oddly genial again. Fili almost preferred when he was violent. "But I assure you my sentiment was genuine. It is nice being in the company of one's family."

"Is that why you murdered your own father?" Richard asked with a scoff.

Rahl's head snapped around to face Richard, his tangled hair, so unlike his usual pristine image, whipping as he did so.

"You have no idea what it was like growing up in the House of Rahl!" he snapped. Apparently attacks on his character were more palatable than any mention of his father, or an insinuation that he was in the wrong for killing him. "For most people it is a joy to learn you are to have a sibling. But, imagine how I felt when our father boasted to me that my own baby brother would be the one to kill me."

"So you slaughtered all the male babies and toddlers in an entire city," Moira snapped. "'Cause that's a normal person's reaction." Fili had not heard that part of the story. He wondered how Richard had escaped death. Zedd must have spirited him away as soon as he had been born.

"I had to protect myself!" Rahl's voice raised slightly.

"Right," Moira sneered as she looked directly into the monster's cold eyes. "Funny how protecting yourself meant oppressing the whole world and murdering anyone who didn't immediately worship you. You ever notice that fighting a prophecy makes it self-fulfilling? YOU made your future, and your death. Don't blame us."

Rahl just smiled enigmatically; he was clearly done talking.

….........................................................................................................................................................................

The three of them were on the move again. Richard was ahead of the other two, and he had a strange compass in his hand, a little blue ball glowing at the center of it.

"Let's keep moving," he said solemnly.

The resurrected tyrant was unbound after the fight with the Sisters of the Dark, Fili noticed, but Moira was standing closer to Rahl than Richard. She was watching him intently, the expression in her dark eyes distrustful. She was obviously unwilling to take her eyes off of him. And he was staggering. Rahl leaned against a nearby tree, and his breath was short.

"Why are you stopping?" Moira asked, sounding far more annoyed than concerned. Richard closed the compass, putting it in his pocket, and looked back.

"The dacra's magic must've tainted my blood." Rahl moved his cloak aside, and Fili could see black veins running up and down his arm from under the bandage. Rahl pulled the bandage aside as Richard walked back to him. The weapon had clearly been poisoned.

"Zedd will be back soon, he'll heal you," Richard offered. Rahl let out a small, humorless laugh, his blue eyes listless and dull.

Richard looked confused at the reaction. "How is that funny?"

But Moira's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What did you do?!" she hissed.

Rahl met her eyes instead of his brother's. "Before our encounter at the Forest of the Night Wisps, I knew you wouldn't be content to let the secrets of the scroll remain locked in my mind. So, I planned ahead. In case Richard sent your wizard to find a Listener, I ordered my Mord'Sith to track and kill him. Once Zedd has found a Listener, Garen will kill them both."

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Moira fumed.

"Yes, Selyse, it appears that I've sealed my own fate, as well as the fate of the world." Rahl tugged his sleeve over the bandage and, with some difficulty, hefted himself away from the tree. Richard and Moira's eyes followed him as he lurched away, clearly awash in horror and shock.

............................................................................................................................................................................

They were out of the woods now, and crossing an open field. Rahl was leaning on Richard, one arm draped across his shoulders. Fili had never seen the sorcerer look so weak; he was pale, with huge black bags under his eyes, and his skin was waxy. The poison was apparently very effective.

Moira was right next to them, arms crossed over her chest. If it were anyone else, she would have been helping Richard to support Rahl's weight, under his other arm, but she was obviously unwilling to touch him. He had already as good as threatened to rape her, more than a year prior at the wizard's keep when he and Giller had attempted to steal Kahlan's power. But Fili knew that a man like this would likely see this action as haughtiness, not the caution and self-protection that it was. In Rahl's mind, it was likely another thing that he would want to punish her for. And Fili knew that one day he would.

"This is useless, we will never find a healer in time," Rahl protested.

"Are you telling me the greatest tyrant the world has ever known is going to be done in by a scratch from a dacra?" Richard angrily needled him.

"It's tragic, isn't it?" Rahl was a legend in his own mind.

"More like pathetic," Moira hissed.

Rahl pulled away from Richard now, losing his balance in the process. Richard reached for him, but Rahl pushed his hands away.

"Don't give up!" Richard said with frustration.

"I am not going to make it," Rahl said as he sank to his knees. Richard knelt in front of him, and Moira hovered behind the Seeker, still on her feet. Richard's face was open and his voice earnest when he spoke to his half-brother. "Then, before you die, tell me what was written on the scroll."

Rahl shook his head, and very quietly, breathed out, "No."

"Big surprise," Moira muttered as she paced. Rahl just smiled at her cynicism, the complete opposite of Richard's hope and optimism.

"You want to save the world?" Richard sounded desperate. "This is your chance!"

"When I die, the Keeper has assured me that I will suffer eternal torment." Each breath was becoming more difficult for the tyrant. "But, if I can tell him that I didn't reveal the scroll's secrets, perhaps I can escape that fate."

"What makes you think the Keeper will be merciful?" Richard asked.

Rahl smiled and drawled in a honeyed tone, "Oh, a lifetime of service should forgive a momentary transgression."

"Lifetime of service?" Richard said, confusion evident in his tone.

"What I'm about to tell the two of you, I have never revealed to a single living soul."

Moira had halted her pacing a few steps behind where Richard was kneeling in front of Rahl, and Fili could see that despite herself, she was interested in what Rahl had to say. "At a young age I reached the limits of my powers. I wasn't satisfied. I discovered an ancient volume, which promised to give me unlimited power, but at a terrible price."

Moira listened quietly. It was Richard who asked, "What are you talking about?"

"When you killed me, dear Richard, it was not the first time I died." That got the attention of everyone listening, including Fili. Richard's mouth fell open as he listened to Rahl's story in shock. "I followed the book's instructions; I took my own life. Once in the Underworld I communed with the Keeper. I made him an offer: if he would grant me the power to rule the world, each day I would kill for him. I would send him an endless supply of souls."

"You were a baneling?" Richard asked, but it wasn't really needed. Moira had sank to the ground now, as she had realized the enormity of the sorcerer-king's confession.

"The very first." He had the barest hint of a smile, and Fili wasn't sure if it was fake anymore. He seemed nearly delirious with the poison of the dacra.

"But you'd have to kill every single day. Even in D'Hara, that seems …. impractical," Moira said softly.

"I was the first. My agreement was different than Cara's, or any of the others. I didn't have to send every soul to the Keeper with my own hands."

Moira looked to the sky above her, a heavy breath forcing its way out of her lungs. "Every person killed by a D'Haran soldier counted for you."

"All the death and destruction you wrought was for the Keeper?" Richard sounded disbelieving.

Rahl nodded. "Yes."

Richard was looking at him in abject horror. While Moira was interested, she had much less sympathy for the tyrant's cosmos-destroying mistakes. His confession begun, Rahl couldn't stop. "But he deceived me. He only returned me to the land of the living because he knew one day you could use the power of Orden to kill me. My death would tear a hole in the veil between the two worlds. It was all a part of his plan."

"Gee, the Lovecraftian cosmic-horror God of Death deceived you," Moira said dryly. "What a surprise."

"You're right, of course, Selyse. I should have trusted in my own power, and never enslaved myself to any creature, God or not."

Richard grabbed Rahl's shoulder, trying to force him to look into his eyes, but Rahl just shook his head and avoided that. "But you have a chance to stop him. Now!" Richard pleaded desperately. "I'll make sure that everyone knows that you died heroically. That your last act was saving the world. Just tell me what was on the scroll."

There was a long pause, and Fili almost believed that Rahl was conflicted. Almost. "Richard…" Rahl whispered, leaning close. "Behind you."

Richard and Moira turned at the same time. There was a massive muscle-bound man striding purposefully towards the trio. His right arm looked like it was made out of a shiny metal of some sort. It was silver-colored, but Fili was a Dwarf; whatever it was, was decidedly _**not**_ silver, nor mithril, or any other kind of metal that Fili had ever seen. They both stood, drawing their swords, as Rahl fell backwards onto the ground. The man raised his metal fist and cast an evil grin at them before it started to glow a bright, unnatural orange. Instead of attacking, the man punched the ground, and the ground cracked. The crack grew and widened as it rushed towards where Richard and Moira stood side by side, and green flames leapt from it. Fili could hear primal, blood-chilling howls emanating from the crack, and he sucked in a deep breath. This was obviously a rift to the Underworld, which he had heard much talk of, but not actually seen. Richard and Moira backed quickly away from the swiftly-approaching rift, as the huge man with the unnatural metal fist advanced on them.

Rahl was dangerously close to the rift, and in his state looked like he might just accidentally roll into it. Richard and Moira looked at each other, and both made a beeline to the poisoned tyrant. Each of them grabbed a fistful of his shirt on either side and dragged him away. With the man charging them, Richard let go first, turning to face their attacker as Moira continued to drag Rahl farther from the rift. She struggled with his heavy weight, especially since she was only using one arm as the other still had a sword it in.

When she turned back, she saw that Richard was striking the man hard with the sword, and he blocked them all with the metal of his arm. The man punched Richard in the chest, hard enough that the Seeker lost his balance and nearly fell into the rift. He managed to fall to the ground a safe distance away from the fiery gash in the earth, but only just. His attacker loomed over him, and before the extremely large man could bring the fist down and crush Richard's skull, Moira was slicing at him with her sword. She managed to get in a good long swipe across his chest, which cut through his shirt diagonally from one shoulder to the opposing hip, red blood seeping through the wound and staining the ruin of his shirt red.

So he could bled then. That was encouraging. She continued to press her attack, but once again he blocked with the metal arm. Moira's sword, unlike Richard's, was not magical. It _shattered_ when it came down hard on the metallic arm. She barely had time to register that fact before her opponent reached for her throat, his large metal fingers closing around her fragile neck. Her brown eyes widened in panic as her hands gripped his wrist desperately when he started to lift her from the ground, feet dangling as he grinned evilly at her. Fili had a horrible flashback of watching Azog choke her in this same way on Ravenhill.

He couldn't help the growl that rose from deep in his throat, or the red rage that clouded his vision as he clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. Fili knew she couldn't die here, because there was more that had to happen in this world. The overwhelming helplessness was maddening.

Fili was so focused on what was transpiring between his One and the unknown assassin that he had entirely forgotten about Richard. Suddenly there was a howl of rage, and the Sword of Truth sailed through the air to slice through the man's large bicep, right above the elbow where the metal began. Moira dropped to the ground, holding her abused throat as she coughed. Her attacker barely had time to begin screaming in pain before Richard kicked him in the chest, sending him tumbling downwards and into the open rift. There he would face the displeasure of the Keeper, who was no doubt his master and had sent him on this deadly errand. Fili doubted that the Keeper of the Underworld would turn out to be very forgiving of failure. Richard stood at the edge for a moment, peering into the rift, most like assuring himself that the attacker was actually gone. Behind him Moira, still on her knees, struggled get her breath.

After a moment, Richard turned to her. "Are you alright?" He questioned her earnestly.

Moira nodded, still wheezing, while Richard eyed the deep purple ring of bruises around her neck with sympathy. Suddenly he seemed to remember his original mission and ran to his nefarious half-brother.

Rahl was almost facedown. "Rahl!" Richard yelled as he turned him over. He pressed two fingers to his neck, checking his pulse, and was apparently not pleased with what he found. The panic on the young man's face intensified. "You can't die! Come on!" Richard was yelling at Rahl as he shook him. "You have to hold on! You have to fight!

"Richard, move." Moira was oddly calm. She knelt beside the tyrant and did something that Fili had never seen; she carefully positioned both her hands on his chest, above his heart, and began a series of steady rhythmic compressions, counting as she did so.

"Richard!" Zedd's voice came from somewhere nearby.

"Zedd?!" Fili can hear the joy in Richard's voice as he turned to find his grandfather still among the living. "Hurry, he's dying!"

The tall gangly wizard hurried his steps, and beside him was a small red-haired boy of maybe twelve years of age. The freckled child followed Zedd and watched, standing out of the way when the old man knelt and began to examine Rahl's injured arm. When Zedd unwrapped the bandage from Rahl's arm, running his hand over the afflicted area, the look he shot Richard made it clear that Rahl's condition was serious. The wizard looked up to the sky, eyes slightly glazed, as he quietly chanted. A golden light emanated from Zedd's palm and was absorbed by the skin of Rahl's arm. Zedd gasped with the effort, looking slightly pained. Apparently using his magic to heal demanded a lot of his strength. A shame it was wasted on a scab like Rahl. When Zedd finally removed his hand, Fili saw that the skin beneath was smooth and clear. Not only were the sickly black veins gone, but so too was the offending cut that had caused all the trouble.

Richard sighed in relief. Moira, despite the necessity of saving Rahl, scowled and her features hardened. When the tyrant began to stir, he smiled at the wizard hovering above him. "You don't know how happy to see that you escaped death, wizard."

"I wish I could say the same for you." Zedd said coldly.

Rahl chuckled a little. "It seems I will get to enjoy that wit after all."

When he sat up onto his elbows, the grogginess clearing from his eyes, his skin the normal tan instead of the waxy pale, Rahl noticed the young boy staring intently at him. "You must be the Listener." he said with a small, resigned smile.

The boy stared at Rahl, his eyes clear and focused. "You have to take the Stone of Tears to the Pillars of Creation. On the day of the summer solstice."

"That's less than a fortnight from now." Zedd exclaimed in worry, looking to Richard.

"If we don't make it there with the Stone by then we'll have to wait another year." Richard said before he stood.

"By that time the Keeper will have won." Zedd said seriously as he stood as well.

"Renn," Moira addressed the boy. "Does he know what how we actually use the damned Stone?"

Renn looked back at Rahl, who narrowed his cold eyes this time, the only evidence of his discomfort and unhappiness about this situation. He'd been outplayed and he had no way around that.

"You have to place it in the center of the pillars." Renn said. "The light of noon day sun will pass through the Stone and repair the tear in the veil."

A wide smile split the wizard's clean-shaven face, and Richard patted the boy's shoulder as he smiled warmly. "Thank you, Renn."

"I was going to tell you." Rahl said quietly. Not about to take that on faith, Richard looked from Rahl back to Renn.

"He … might have," the boy said slowly. "His mind is so full of confusing thoughts. I can't tell for sure." Renn swallowed. He looked at Moira now, and he seemed conflicted about whether he should say the next part. Fili pitied the child. Seeing inside this monster's mind would be haunting, he imagined. "He thinks about you a lot." Renn finally told her. "Not nice things."

Moira's face showed her surprise, but she quickly covered it. "Thanks for the warning."

Rahl's eyes narrowed at the boy, and Renn actually took a step back. Richard glared, one arm coming up to circle the boy's shoulders protectively, and then he steered him a little farther away. Zedd followed, leaving Rahl behind. Moira sat on the grass, a long dagger she had apparently had hidden on her person somewhere now sitting across her crossed thighs in replacement of her shattered sword as she watched Rahl. He was sitting up now, wrists tied, and he just regarded her with cold calculation and an oily smirk. Neither of them said a word.

The cold, taut silence between them allowed Fili to overhear the conversation between Zedd and Richard as Moira stared unblinkingly at her prisoner.

"Now that we know what to do with the Stone, we don't need Rahl anymore."

"We can't kill him." Richard reminded him. "He'll tell the Keeper where we're headed."

"What do you have in mind?" Zedd asked.

"We take him with us." Richard shrugged.

"He's not going to like being a prisoner."

The words began to get too faint for Fili make out. Rahl was watching Moira with that cold, cunning interest again. In all likelihood he was listening to the every word of the conversation as well.

"Am I so interesting?" he drawled at last.

Moira snorted, not answering, but she kept her eyes steadily locked on his. She seemed to want him to know that she wasn't afraid of him.

"You fight well." Rahl complimented her. "But not well enough." His eyes lingered on the dark bruises around her throat, that terrifying light back in his eyes, and he licked his lips. She didn't have time to respond. Quick as a striking snake, Rahl's hands, still bound, lashed out, striking her across the face. Moira fell backwards with a thump, and now Rahl was straddling her, holding her own dagger to her neck. This had all happened in the blink of an eye.

"By the _spirits_ , no!" Richard turned with a growl, ready to launch himself at Rahl.

"One move from you or the wizard, little brother, and I slit her lovely, though somewhat bruised, little throat."

"Richard, let him." Moira choked out.

"So eager to die, Selyse?" Rahl hissed as he pressed the dagger into her neck a little harder. "I imagine the Keeper will enjoy getting his hands on you, with as much trouble as you've been. I'm sure you're aware that until the veil is repaired, all souls go to him, wicked or not."

Moira laughed, utterly unthreatened. Fili knew why; she wouldn't go to their afterlife in any circumstances. Rahl, of course, didn't yet understand her flippancy. He narrowed his eyes at her lack of concern and respect for the man who held her life in his hands. Richard was too far away to get to them in time. Rahl flashed his brother a cold-blooded smile, and then … tossed the dagger away and ran?! The metal fist was still laying on the ground where Richard had cut it from the assassin, and Fili realized what Rahl's plan was at the same time that Richard did. Moira scrambled up, her neck bleeding slightly, and Richard raced after the tyrant. But it was too late.

Rahl grasped the huge metal fist and lifted it high, grunting from the effort of lifting its weight, and brought it crashing down onto the ground. The earth cracked again, and this time, the rift perfectly split the clearing in half, separating Rahl from his captors. Richard glared angrily across the green flames leaping from the tear as the others backed away. Rahl walked to the edge on his own side, smirking that infuriating smirk of his. "I'm sure I'll see you again, brother." Rahl called over the distance of the rift.

"I'm sure you will." Richard yelled back.

Rahl started to turn away, but then he reconsidered and turned back. This time Rahl locked eyes with Moira. "And you, Selyse," he smiled, but there nothing nice about it. "I enjoyed our talks." It was amazing how such simple, normally friendly words were a chilling threat when they came from Rahl's mouth.

............................................................................................................................................................................

Fili came to an end of the rambling hallway, and at first he thought that it was just a solid wall. But after a moment of gazing at the wall in confusion, he saw that one of the shadows was not _actually_ a shadow, but a hole in the stone barrier, low even for a Dwarf. It was nearly perfectly disguised. You had to standing just so, otherwise it was not visible at all. A hidden passageway, inside a castle filled with bad memories, inside Moira's mind. This could go no where good. Yet Fili knew he had to persure it, because he was certain now that Moira was trapped in her worst memories. The things he had seen so far were not exactly the best memories, but surely not the most terrible, either.

Taking a shaking breath, Fili ducked under the slightly-protruding lodestone. He found it lead to a crumbling, circular stairwell. He tried to descend the stairs, but after only a few steps, it became so dark that he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face. Fili retreated for a moment, to grab one of the torches burning in the scones. Taking another deep breath, he ducked under the low overhang again, and began to slowly move down the stairs, one hand braced against the wall as he did so. The blood rushing in his ears was deafening. He was certain that he was descending deeper into Moira's consciousness, into the ugliest things that her recollection had to offer, which she didn't want to acknowledge in the cold light of day.

He was right. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the flame of his torch guttered out. And then Fili was confronted with Moira's worst memories. With the nightmare that Rahl had made of her life.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

The world was red. It was made of only screams and blood. There was no time, only red. Fili saw only flashes of the the horrible red reality in between images of other times and places. He realized quickly that Moira was attempting to retreat into her mind as Rahl tortured her. The changes around him were dizzying in their pace and he struggled to find his footing. _Kahlan, wearing the white dress that Fili now knew designated her as a Confessor, smiled softly and wrapped Moira in a tight hug_. Moira's hands were chained together and she was suspended from the ceiling, her clothes cut from her body with a wickedly curved dagger. _She was back in Kattegatt, teaching Thora to weave and watching Eirik spar with the other boys_. She screamed as a knife cut into her flesh. _Moira sat next to a fire, laughing with Kahlan, as well as Zedd and Richard, and the firelight was shining on the young man's warm, kind eyes_. "The Seeker is not coming for you. You are mine." Rahl taunted her, and struck her with the agiel again, the torture magic lacing black veins under her skin. She tried to hold back her scream, but failed. Rahl grinned savagely. _Ivar smiled a toothy grin, and produced a hand-ax he had forged himself for her, beaming with pride at her delight. His blue eyes were incredibly bright in the gloom of the smithy_. Rahl's eyes were a colder blue than Ivar's, and hungry. _A tall blonde woman in tight red leather – Cara, Fili realized – had Moira pushed up against a tree, kissing her passionately_. Rahl ripped the black leather bands that covered her from her body and took what he wanted. _Sven was gently unlacing the ties on her white wedding dress, lying her down on the furs of their bed. The crown of green leaves and flowers that had adorned her head during the ceremony tumbled to the ground_. Slowly the fantasies became shorter and less frequent as she lost the battle within herself. She was left only with the cold, red reality.

.........................................................................................................................................................................

A Mord'Sith with hair as red as her leathers entered the dungeon, this one not much taller than Moira herself. Instead of ignoring her, as most of Rahl's elite guards and torturers did, she introduced herself.

"I'm Mistress Gemma. Lord Rahl has important matters of state to attend to, and asked me to take over your training for the day."

"Oh good, I could use a break." Despite Moira's attempt at snark, Fili could see that she was exhausted and weak. She wouldn't last much longer. The Mord'Sith said nothing, but went to a wheel in the corner and turned it with a loud _creak_. The chains suspending Moira from the ceiling suddenly lowered with a jolt that was rough enough to make her cry out. She bit her lip to prevent any more sounds from escaping when the wheel was turned again and she was lowered a second time.

Like all Mord'Sith, Mistress Gemma moved with predatory grace and elegance, a tigress stalking her prey. When she approached Moira, their faces were level. One leather-gloved hand stroked back Moira's sweaty hair from her face. "Lord Rahl tells me you're carrying a torch for Cara." she said lowly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've called out her name several times during his sessions with you." The Mord'Sith smiled coldly, and the light from the torches were shining on her blood-red braid. She leaned close now, almost nuzzling Moira's cheek in a disturbingly intimate way. "You can pretend I'm her, if you like." Gemma's gloved fingers were still softly stroking Moira's bruised face.

"Cara wouldn't hurt me." Moira protested weakly. But Fili could see her leaning into the other woman's soft touch. After Rahl's brutality, he could imagine that a person would be desperate for any gentleness, no matter where it came from. She probably didn't even realize she was doing it. "She's not like you anymore."

"You don't know her like I do." Mistress Gemma purred seductively. "She's tortured countless people. And she was quite gifted at it. Exceptionally so."

"She's not that person anymore." her voice sounded hoarse. "Cara's trying to do good. She's her own woman."

"Is she now?" Gemma was cupping the bound Moira's face now, and her lips were almost brushing the brunette's as she spoke. "Lord Rahl was right, you _are_ carrying quite the torch for my sister."

"She's not your sister, and it's sick that you guys call each other that."

"You're wrong." Mistress Gemma chuckled darkly, and planted a gentle kiss on Moira's lips before drawing back. "We are all sisters when we serve Lord Rahl. One day, he'll have to re-break Cara. Then, you'll be able to serve him _together_." The woman made it sound enticing, like it was something that Moira should _want_.

Mistress Gemma stepped back now, and her features hardened. All the seductiveness was gone. The agiel hummed when she picked it up.

"Let's get started, shall we?"

...........................................................................................................................................................................

Rahl was being gentle and seductive today, instead of his normal unhinged savagery and brutal violence. Fili knew it was a tactic, that it kept Moira off-guard, never knowing which Lord Rahl she would be dealing with until it was too late. Right now, he disregarded the table laid with various torture implements, going to where she hung from the ceiling.

"Why do you still make me hurt you?" Rahl gently caressed her bruised side as he circled her, making her flinch. "I've tried to make you see reason, little dove. Once you do, all _this_ will no longer be necessary."

"I don't un-understand what you want from me," her head was lolling to the side. She was having difficulty forming sentences after being left hanging from her chains all night; sleep deprivation was just another layer of torment she had to endure. "I - I've told you ev-everything. P-please, just stop."

"I'm thinking of letting you sleep in a bed tonight." he purred as he came to stand in front of her. He was still tracing the raw circular burn-like marks on her flesh that the agiel left where it touched had her. "Would you like that?" The chains she hung from had her raised so that her face was nearly level with his, despite the height difference. He still made sure that he had a few inches on her, so that she was still forced to look _up_ into his face.

Moira was understandably cautious. "Wh-what do I have to do?"

"Nothing difficult… just tell me … whom do you serve?"

"I-I-I don't," Moira frowned, and she looked … confused. There was no telling what magic Rahl was working on her. Fili had learned that wizards here did not require a staff, but just the use of their hands. And one of this vile wizard's hands was gently stroking Moira's face as she struggled to find the words to answer him.

"Ri-Ri-Richard?" Moira stuttered out. The wavering uncertainty in her voice told Fili that she was close to breaking. She hardly seemed to understand the meaning of the name, even as she spoke it. She had already given the sadistic Master of D'Hara all the information she had, but just about the Resistance but also herself, where she came from, what little knowledge she had about her curse. But soon she would _truly_ break and become completely his. _This was it_. The punch came from nowhere, sudden and quick, colliding with her already-bruised cheekbone and making her swing violently in her chains.

"WHOM do you serve?" Rahl's voice was harder this time, put still seductive, like velvet-covered steel. He gripped her bare hips to still her swinging, bringing her naked body flush against his clothed one.

Between the pain tormenting her body and the magic invading her mind, the confusion of brutal torture contrasted with horrid gentleness, the constant violations and repeated deaths at his hands, only to receive the breath of life from his Mord'Sith so the never-ending cycle could begin again - Fili was surprised that she had held on this long. But when Moira's confused, tired, broken voice weakly responded with "Y-You?", a question more than an answer, his heart still ached for her so deeply that Fili thought he'd been struck with an agiel himself.

Rahl kissed her, gently for once, instead of harsh and demanding as he had during his previous "training sessions". Moira's lips parted obediently, but she didn't respond. . . It seemed as if she wasn't even present, like her body was an empty vessel waiting to occupied.

When he drew back, Rahl whispered against her lips, one hand raising to stroke through the matted mess of her hair as he did so. "The name, little dove, say the name, and I'll release you." he promised, in a voice coiled tight with lies and half-truths. "Who is your Lord?"

Moira's head fell back. Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to suck in lungfuls of air.. "Dark … Darken Rahl." her voice was a hoarse whimper, and her unseeing eyes shut as she said it. Fili wondered if she understood the weight of what was happening, or if she felt only relief at the promised reward. "I serve …. Lord Darken Rahl."

The demonic light in Rahl's eyes and his savage, wolfish grin at her final submission was terrifying. The hand on her hip curled around her waist while the other reached above her hands, deftly undoing the manacles one-handed. He planted gentle kisses along her tear-streaked face as he did so. The false intimacy and obscene gentleness of this moment was sickening to watch.

When her hands came free, Moira fell with a small cry. Rahl caught her easily in his arms, and carried her to a bench against the dungeon wall. He was cradling her naked form, murmuring to her as she clung to him, sobbing into his chest. It was sick, but Fili knew what was happening. Rahl had broken her, and now he was making her dependent on him. The Mord'Sith who had been standing guard at the doorway like a silent statue during the entire ordeal disappeared when Rahl nodded at her.

Fili sagged in the doorway as he watched. He had a good idea what was going to happen, and as much as he didn't want to see it, he also felt as if he owed it to Moira to do so. Fili was beginning to understand that Moira hated herself for not being stronger, thought herself unworthy of being loved because of what this man had done to her, and what she had done while under his spell. Fili felt he _had_ to watch, to bear silent witness to her suffering, so later he could assure her that he had seen it all and _still_ loved her. How could she believe him if she learned that he couldn't stomach observing and had left?

The Mord'Sith returned, carrying a bowl of steaming hot water and fresh, fluffy towels. The warrior woman didn't speak, but placed the bowl next to Rahl on the stone bench. Moira was still naked, and the way that she stiffened and shied away from the other the other woman's closeness told Fili that this Mord'Sith had also been involved with Moira's "training," as Mistress Gemma had. Moira buried her head in Rahl's neck, drawing an oily smirk from him. "Shush, little dove, there is no more need to hurt you." The softly murmured words of comfort were just a reminder that he had been the one to hurt her in the first place. "Things are as they should be now."

"You may leave us, Nadeera," Rahl genially addressed his devoted vassal. The leather-clad woman nodded as she turned to go. "Oh, and have the servants prepare my bedchamber."

Mistress Nadeera turned halfway back, her braid swinging a little. She raised an eyebrow in response. " _Your_ chambers, my Lord?" she clarified. Was that not normal?

"You heard me." Rahl's voice slithered out of his mouth like a snake, and he met her eyes unblinkingly, with reptilian coldness, daring her to contradict him. The Mord'Sith said nothing more on the matter, but this time she saluted him with a fist to her chest. "Yes, my Lord. At once, my Lord."

When she had left, Rahl set to work, beginning to gently wipe the blood from Moira's body, cleaning the wounds he himself had inflicted on her. He took his time, and cooed and shushed her when she whimpered. Moira clung to him as if he were a life-raft. The world was going hazy and black and then snapping back into focus; evidence that she was losing and regaining consciousness frequently. Through it all, Moira had one fist twisted tightly in Rahl's robe as he spoke soothingly to her. If someone were to see this and only this, they could be forgiven for thinking that Rahl was Moira's rescuer instead of her abuser. But Fili saw the unnatural light in his eyes and the way he licked his lips when the wet cloth came to the dried blood encrusted on Moira's thighs - the blood that he had left there.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

Moira walked through courtyards of the People's Palace, past the heavy, clipped footsteps of the drilling Dragon Corps, her hand curled around the hilt of a sword buckled around her waist. The first thing that caught Fili's eye was that she was wearing a black cloak that billowed behind her as she went. A cloak emblazoned with the same symbol that all the D'Haran officers wore, the sigil that decorated the banners of the People's Palace in red and black on every possible wall. The same stark, skull-like lines that had been magically branded into her flesh, which Fili had carefully flayed from her skin while she had writhed in his arms on the floor of Bag End. That felt like lifetimes ago, but in reality was a mere few weeks. The coat of arms of the House of Rahl. The second thing that jumped out to Fili was the blood drying on the leather jerkin she wore under the cloak. But most disturbing of all was the cold, dead look in her eyes, the expressionless, detached mask that her face had become, and the slight sneer that twisted her lips if anyone held her gaze for too long. The superior sneer was a mirror of Rahl's. She was his now.

Fili should have felt rage or despair at his One's predicament. But all he felt was numb, a cold, hopeless darkness seeping into his bones and towards his heart, freezing his blood in glass-like crystal shards as it went. He imagined that somewhere inside of herself, wherever the real Moira was locked away, she was feeling that same.

Moira stopped outside the throne room ask a much older soldier - General Egremont, if Fili remembered correctly - where Rahl was. She had been ordered to report to him personally once her mission was complete. Fili couldn't be certain, but for a moment he thought he saw a look of pity in the old general's eyes. That surprised him. Egremont was Darken Rahl's oldest and most trusted adviser, and thus far had seemed completely loyal to the sorcerer-king. Perhaps not all D'Harans were as monstrous as their king. Perhaps they, too, wanted nothing more than to survive. But the moment of weakness lasted only a moment, if it had ever been there at all.

Fili thought he saw a slight shadow on Moira's face as she descended in the dungeons, a tightness settling in as her jaw was clenched shut. It was the only thing that betrayed her uneasiness; her eyes were still cold and her face calm. But not long ago, she had been broken herself in these very dungeons. Now she loyally served the monster who had painstakingly destroyed her psyche, piece by piece.

Screams and faint sobs echoed from several of the dungeon chambers Moira passed. Fili caught glimpses of Mord'Sith at work breaking other unfortunate souls as Moira passed, intent on her destination. When she found the man she now served, he was torturing some poor bastard who was hanging upside down, his feet shackled somewhere near the ceiling.

Moira watched for a few moments, until Rahl's victim passed out from blood loss. Then she cleared her throat and stepped out of the shadows."My Lord, I'm sorry to interrupt. But I have a report."

Rahl paused, but didn't turn. "Your mission?"

"Successful." the cutting smirk on Moira's face was as deadly as Rahl's knife. "The Resistance cell was annihilated."

"Any survivors?" when he turned, there was a smear of blood along the Lord of D'Hara's cheekbone. It made the demonic light in his cold blue eyes even more frightening.

"Only the children you commanded me to bring you."

"Excellent work." his voice was a pleased grunt. "You're served me well today, little dove."

"Thank you, my Lord." Moira inclined her head, her entire attitude one of humbleness and servility that Fili didn't think suited her. He _hated_ to see her like this.

"Come here." Rahl commanded her. Moira obediently came to to stand beside his side.

Rahl placed his heavy hand possessively on the back of her neck, holding her immobile as he spoke in a voice soft with concealed threat."You knew him, didn't you?"

"Yes." Moira confirmed, face blank and unreadable. "He's the village blacksmith at Eldermont."

Rahl was always a knot of suppressed energy and power, anger coiled and tightly contained, the force of his internal dragon restrained but never fully locked away. He usually applied his anger carefully, with cold precision and icy calculation, where his keen senses knew it would hurt the most. Whether that pain was physical or psychological, he delighted in torment of all kinds. But sometimes the weight of his lifetime of rage became too much and that control snapped. Then he became a beast, unhinged in his wrath and violence, nothing but brutal, primal fury.

The dragon was evident in his eyes at times like these, lighting the dungeon with blue fire. "And the second-in-command of the Resistance of the outlying villages there."

"He has three daughters." Moira volunteered, then paused. " _Had_. Two now." her smile was dark and chilling. "One of them resisted."

There was an evil glint in Rahl's eye at that information, which shook Fili more than it should have. He was certain that this man's family was not going to go unpunished for his involvement in the Resistance. Rahl punched the man, causing him to wake with a gasp. Rahl ignored the prisoner and turned to Moira instead. "I'm going to teach you something, little dove," he purred, that evil glint back in his cold eyes. "So that you may serve me better."

And Rahl directed Moira in the art of torture, telling her how and where to hurt her former friend instead of doing it himself. Fili's skin crawled at the display of an odd and creepy intimacy between them, an obscene closeness as Rahl gently touched the small of her back with one hand as he whispered in her ear, directing her where and how to cut.

Fili learned that the agiel caused constant pain to anyone it touched, even the one wielding it. Now that he was looking for it, when Rahl picked up the weapon, Fili could see the muscles of his arm tense and flex with the shock of the torture magic lancing up his arm. Fili wondered where Darken had gotten his tolerance for a pain that was apparently an agony like no other. Did the Rahls torture their heirs like they did the Mord'Sith, in some kind of twisted effort to make them them stronger? The effect of the agiel was even more noticeable when Moira attempted to wield the magical weapon. She couldn't hold it for very long. In an effort to please Rahl, she became more brutal with the magical baton, to make up for the fact that should couldn't stand it's touch for long periods.

Worse still was how quickly Moira took to the lessons. Fili had already seen the savagery that Moira was capable of, when she and her Viking brothers had blood-eagled King Aelle. That had been alarming to witness, but _somewhat_ understandable; Aelle had tortured the man she called father to death, after all. Now, she was torturing an innocent for the pleasure of the man who had tortured her. There wasn't even any more information to be gained; he had already broken and given Rahl all he knew. But Rahl wanted to not only punish him, but use him for Moira's training. His screams set Fili's teeth on edge, but worse of all was the way that Moira didn't seem to care.

After a while Rahl gave her permission to change from the agiel to the knife. He circled her as she worked, watching her with his predatory gaze. If she were cutting with the cold precision of Rahl's methods, the grate below their victim would catch the runoff of blood. But instead she was letting her anger rule her, the ever-simmering rage in her gut taking over. Some of the strokes of the knife were so violent, sprays of hot blood covered her face, flew past her and coated the floor of the dungeon. Fili's hand covered his mouth in horror, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. This was the source of Moira's guilt and self-loathing, he was certain of it. But Rahl was plainly becoming more and more aroused by the violent display.

When her new Lord commanded her to end it, Moira plunged the knife into the blacksmith's chest without a second thought. His life ended in a wet gurgle instead of a scream. Fili closed his eyes in mourning, but also relief, as he sent a silent prayer to Mahal for the blacksmith and his daughters, even through he knew they were long dead. It was all he could do for them.

Rahl began to stalk slowly towards Moira now, as she turned to him, the bloody knife still in her hand. "Have I pleased you, my Lord?"

"Very much, little dove," Rahl spoke huskily as he took the bloody knife from her fingers. He lifted it to her mouth, and without a word, her eyes on his, she licked it clean. His eyes glittered with that dangerous dragonfire again. Fili shuddered in absolute revulsion at the bloody display of villainous affection. When the knife was clean, Rahl slid it into the empty sheath on Moira's belt, his other hand going around her waist to pull her body to his. He leaned down, clearly intending to kiss her. But she interrupted him, placing one hand on his chest as she protested, "It's almost time for devotions, My Lord."

Rahl paused, still holding her close. He sounded annoyed when he responded "Egremont can lead the devotions today."

"My Lord?" Moira sounded truly surprised by the idea. "Your people need to see you."

"They'll survive one day without seeing their beloved king." Rahl leaned forward and licked some of the spattered blood on the side of her face, his rumbling voice low. "You'll do yours here today."

Moira's eyes widened a little. "Here …?"

"Is there a problem?" Rahl's voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

"My Lord, the blood …."

"Will wash out." He laughed humorlessly, the mocking twist to his words turning his tone vaguely threatening. "You just tortured a former friend of yours to death, and now you're suddenly squeamish? On your knees, little dove." He went from vague threat to angry command in an instant. "NOW."

Moira didn't argue further, but knelt in the pooled and congealing blood on the dungeon floor. Fili knew by now that Rahl did not make idle threats. She bowed her head, awaiting his next command. Rahl circled her, his robe whispering across the floor. The red hue of the cloth hid the brightness of the blood the hem was dragging through, but there was no mistaking the bloody trail left behind him. Fili thought that Rahl's cruelty and ego couldn't shock him any more. He was wrong.

"You may begin your prayer." Rahl told her. Moira nodded, and began to recite from memory, while Rahl circled her slowly, an insidious smile lifting just the corners of his lips, enjoying her complete and total submission to his will. "Master Rahl, guide us. Master Rahl, teach us. Master Rahl, protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy, we are sheltered. In your wisdom, we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours."

Of all the things that Fili had seen, in a way this was the most sick. The people of D'Hara actually _prayed_ to their king? Were the Rahls regarded as Gods? _This_ Rahl certainly acted as if he expected to be treated as one. And Fili was certain that Darken Rahl would be a jealous God that would allow no other Gods before him. He had taken Moira's faith from her, as well her body and her mind. Fili knew how important the Aesir were to Moira, how her belief in the Gods of the Vikings had given her hope in her darkest of times. To twist her mind so much that those figures of hope and beauty and strength were replaced with this torturing, child-sacrificing rapist of a tyrant …. Somehow, that seemed like the most monstrous thing Rahl had done. Fili's stomach churned. When her "prayer" had ended, Rahl was standing in front of her, and he started to gently stroke her still-bowed head, almost as if she were a dog. "You look so lovely on your knees," he purred.

"Do you require servicing, my Lord?" she asked, her voice sultry. She dared to raise her eyes to meet his, but remained in her submissive position on the floor. The roiling in his belly intensified and Fili thought he would puke. He started to close the door, but Rahl said something that made him pause.

"Tell me something, Amber," Fili's jaw tightened when he heard Rahl use Moira's real name, the name she had been given at birth. Until now, Fili had thought he was the only one who knew that name, at least since she stopped using it after her first few lifetimes. But of course, when she had finally broken, she would have told Rahl everything about herself. It suddenly occurred to Fili that it was likely that _no one_ knew as much about her as Rahl did. At least, before Elrond's spell had trapped Fili here in her memories, forcing him to relive them with her. _No wonder she made me promise not to tell anyone her true name_ , Fili mused. _Why would she ever want to be called by it again?_

"Did you ever service Richard as you now do me?" Rahl's smoothly insidious voice bought Fili out of his thoughts and back to the horrible memory in front of him. The jealous light in the evil monarch's cold eyes made Fili think that there was nothing Moira could say that would avoid pain or punishment of some kind. "Is that the reason my dear half-brother lets you follow him around like a lost puppy?"

"No, my Lord." she answered.

As Fili had predicted, Rahl's fingers twisted in her hair and pulled roughly, making her gasp in surprise and pain. "Don't lie to me!" Rahl hissed.

"I'm not, I swear!" There were tears gathering in Moira's dark eyes, but what really cut Fili to the quick was the sheer fear and desperation in her voice. She knew exactly what Rahl was capable of, and now Fili did too. "Richard is in love with Kahlan!"

"I'm aware of my brother's feelings," Rahl sneered. "I'm not talking about _love_ -" He spat the word as if it were the vilest curse known to man - "Richard can't touch the Confessor without losing his soul. I'm asking if he _fucked_ you to relieve the stress of not being able to be with the _woman_ he truly desires." Rahl was pulling Moira's hair so roughly now that she was clutching his fingers with one hand, silently begging him with her eyes to stop, but not daring to actually try to pry his fingers from the strands. It could always be so much worse.

"No, my Lord, I swear he never touched me!" Moira whimpered as she writhed a little under his merciless grip. "He doesn't want anyone but Kahlan! He's completely loyal to her! Women throw themselves at him all the time, he's never even tempted!"

Rahl laughed. "What a fool my dear brother is," he mused.

Rahl released her hair, and he loomed closer, hovering over her. With his impressive height, Rahl was threatening enough when she was not in such a compromising position. His fingers traced along her bruised cheekbone, down to her cracked lip. Had Rahl given her those marks, or were they the result of her latest mission against the Resistance? Fili didn't remember. It didn't matter anyway, either way the blame rested entirely with the Master of D'Hara.

"That could explain why he's made no effort to rescue you from my fiendish clutches." Rahl sounded amused. He continued to caress the angles of her bloodied face with deceptive tenderness. "I suppose that's also why he's accepted Cara into your merry little band of heroes. The Mord'Sith have a long history of serving the House of Rahl. And as I recall, Cara was always so eager to please." After a beat, he gave her a sly, oily smile. "Oh, forgive me, little dove, I forgot about your little crush." Fili doubted very much that Darken Rahl ever forgot anything. "Does it bother you that I had her first?"

"No…." Moira gulped a little.

"You know the punishment for lying, little dove." Rahl reminded her as his fingers moved downwards, caressing her throat now. Moira tilted her head back, obviously offering her neck if he wished to choke her (again making Fili feel he'd be sick) before responding, "It doesn't bother me that you had her first, my Lord. That's a very _male_ perspective. It only bothers me that you hurt her."

Moira blinked. She looked slightly confused, as if wondering where those words had come from. There was a moment of silence, as if neither could believe she had said that. It was the first glimmer of her true self that Fili had seen in this entire disturbing scene. Fili feared that Rahl would strike Moira for the tiny display of independent thought. His eyes were lit with rage, like he was burning from within, consumed by dragonfire.

"Put that mouth of yours to better use," Rahl growled angrily instead, grabbing her hair again and roughly yanking her head towards his crotch. Fili slammed the door shut with _far_ more force than was required.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

Fili became aware of Richard's soft-spoken voice before his eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond the next door. "Selyse, I know you," he was saying. Fili could see now that Moira was tied to a tree, her arms stretched around the trunk behind her, and Richard was crouched next to her, his warm brown eyes sad. Cara was pacing nearby, anger and tension radiating from her as she paced back and forth. Zedd and Kahlan were nowhere to be seen.

"I know you're stronger than him." Richard went on. "You're stronger than whatever he did to you. You can beat this. You aren't broken."

She merely laughed, a dark chilling laugh.

"Let me try," Cara demanded more than asked. But after a moment she seemed to soften, just sightly. The change might not have been noticeable to most people, but Fili had been watching this group for a while, and more than that he had seen the other Mord'Sith now. Compared to the other Sisters of the Agiel, Cara was downright expressive. "Please, Richard."

Richard sighed and got to his feet.

"No torture," he said to the leather-clad blonde softly.

"I _have_ other methods," Cara responded scathingly.

Richard just smiled sadly and patted her on the shoulder. "Good luck."

Richard left her, and Cara took a knee next to the bound Moira. Fili smiled sadly, remembering when he was in Cara's place, after Moira had awaken from a nightmare screaming in her Viking tongue, confused and not recognizing him, Bilbo or any of her friends. Now that he had seen what Rahl had done to her, Fili finally understood why her mind was so fragile.

"He's made you soft." Moira sneered before Cara could say anything. "The Mord'Sith are beautiful in their ruthlessness and brutality, but you have none of that now that you've spent two years following that puppy dog."

"I'm still Mord'Sith," Cara responded. The blonde's face was blank, but her blue-green eyes had a strange light to them. "Richard is right about one thing, you're stronger than what Darken did to you. But there is a lot that he doesn't know."

Moira snorted. "That's obvious."

Cara was undeterred. "I know how the bond works. And if for some reason Zedd couldn't break yours, then it should still be able to be transferred to another of the Rahl bloodline."

Moira scoffed and rolled her eyes, then just looked into the darkness of the woods. The Mord'Sith kept her face impassive, but her voice betrayed deep conviction. "Richard is a Rahl, the _**true**_ Lord Rahl. He is the Lord that D'Hara deserves, whether he claims the throne or not. If you accept Richard as your Lord, your bond with Darken should be no more."

Moira laughed bitterly. "I don't think it's that simple."

"It should be," Cara responded. "Unless …" Her brow furrowed, and her voice became soft. "Selyse …. did he make you ingest his blood?"

Moira didn't answer. A shadow passed over her face, one that had nothing to do with the crackling of the nearby fire. Fili remembered suddenly that Moira had said that her bond of fealty with Rahl was different than the one that he had with most D'Harans. Stronger. Up until now, he had assumed it was because he had broken her personally. Fili had learned that the Mord'Sith were a self-perpetuating order. They kidnapped and 'trained' young girls themselves, and Rahl was only called in for the most difficult and resistant cases. This new and disturbing information explained why the magical bond between Moira and her tormentor was strong enough to reach across worlds.

"Richard would never do that to you." Cara said softly. "He _deserves_ your fealty. Darken doesn't."

Moira ignored her, staring into the darkness.

"Come back to us." Cara's red leather-gloved fingers reached out and gently gripped Moira's chin, turning the smaller woman's face back to hers. "Please, Selyse." A note of desperation entered Cara's voice, one that would have shocked Fili if he didn't know that they would eventually become lovers. "We can serve Richard together."

"C-Cara?" Moira sounded groggy, as if she were waking up from a dream.

"Yes!" The relief in Cara's voice and the uncharacteristically wide smile on her face was, Fili had to admit, breathtaking.

"I don't know who I am any more," Moira whispered, and her dark eyes were suddenly glistening. Fili knew that neither woman would willingly let anyone else see them being so weak. Despite her devotion to his cause, despite Moira's friendship with the Seeker, Cara had been right to send him away and attempt this on her own.

"I do." The composed, inscrutable mask had been dropped, and Cara said it with unbelievable fierceness. She was still holding Moira's face, and her fingers almost _trembled_. "You're stronger than anyone I've ever known, Selyse, and that's saying a lot. You'd have to be, to survive your curse. Look inside yourself."

"When I do that, I only see _**him**_ ," Fili's heart broke at the fear and desperation in Moira's voice. Fili wasn't surprised when Cara closed the small distance between them and kissed her. It was hard and desperate, the result of a over a year of pent-up passion. Fili now knew that Mord'Sith were extremely promiscuous and had no problem with expressing themselves sexually with either gender; the realm of emotions were an entirely different matter. If Cara had felt actual _feelings_ for Moira before she had been captured by Rahl, it was likely that she had been confused about it for a long time. When she pulled back, Cara dropped her hand and they stared at each other for a long moment.

"Uhhhh…. Thanks?" Moira finally said. "Don't tell me Rahl's blood magic can be broken by True Love's Kiss. That's just … ridiculously juvenile fairytale nonsense."

"You sound more like yourself." Cara commented dryly as she stood and backed up slowly. "We'll have to wait for the wizard to get back and confirm it before we can untie you. I'm sure you understand. You tend to be more sensible than the others."

And then she turned and … well, not fled, exactly, but whatever it was that Mord'Sith did when others would flee. _She would probably call it a tactical retreat_ , Fili mused. _That is, if I were stupid enough to point it out to her, and she didn't strike me_.

...........................................................................................................................................................................

"Cara, what are you doing?" Moira addressed the Mord'Sith, who was sitting on the floor, muscular leather-clad legs stretched in front of her and blocking the narrow hallway, her back resting against the wooden door.

"I'm guarding Richard." She responded flatly.

Moira raised an eyebrow. "And does he _know_ you're sitting outside his and Kahlan's room?"

"It is a Mord'Sith's duty to protect the Lord Rahl. Richard is the true Lord Rahl."

Moira gave the warrior woman an incredulous look. "We're in the heart of the Midlands, and the owners of this inn are personal friends of Richard and Kahlan. What exactly do you think is gonna happen?"

Cara scowled as she looked up at Moira. "Anything can happen at any time. Doesn't the fact that Darken Rahl broke you prove that?" Moira's face fell, and Cara looked away. Perhaps Moira's response had made Cara regret her habitual bluntness. They had been growing closer, and Fili could see why Moira was drawn to the rogue Mord'Sith. They had had a lot in common before Rahl had broken her. Now they had a shared trauma between them as well as a shared mission. Not to mention, the blonde was extraordinarily beautiful. Fili felt almost dirty admiring a woman other than his One in that way, but he had a feeling that Moira would understand. Not only was she attracted to women as well as men, but this particular woman had been everything to her at one time. That thought made Fili's heart ache with a now-familiar jealousy. He couldn't blame Moira for trying to find something to hold onto, something to give her endless parade of lifetimes meaning. Fili couldn't imagine what it must be like to be in love and then lose that person, and somehow open up your heart and love again. For a Dwarf such a thing was a impossibility; their One would be their only chance for love, ever. For a human, that was normal. Fili knew that Dwarves have had human Ones before, however rare it was, and wondered if jealousy over past loves of the human partner had been a problem in those relationships. But he was certain that this particular situation had never occurred in the history of his people. There was no road map for his relationship with Moira. How could there be?

Cara spoke again and drew Fili's attention back to the scene in front of him. "And we are short one wizard while Zedd's gone to Agaden Reach to try to convince Shota help break your curse." The way that Cara spit the name 'Shota' and gripped her agiels tightly told Fili that whoever Zedd was consulting with, Cara did not trust them in the least.

Moira sighed, and lowered herself to sit beside the other woman. "I'll sit with you for a while."

"Why?" the one word demand would have sounded unduly harsh coming from anyone else. Fili knew by now that it was just Cara's way.

"You're my friend." Moira sighed. "And I just spent a year serving the wrong Lord Rahl."

There was a long pause, where neither woman looked at each other. Moira looked at her hands folded in her lap. Cara stared at the wall, until she finally said in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "I'm sorry we failed to get to you sooner."

"Breaking into the People's Palace isn't exactly the easiest task." Moira shrugged. "Besides, Kahlan and Richard staring into each others eyes' longingly also takes up an unreasonable amount of time."

Cara barked out a harsh laugh. "I had hoped that when we found out that Richard was immune to her touch and they could finally consummate their epic romance, they'd be a little more bearable to be around. If anything, they're _**worse**_."

"Ah, young love." Moira said mockingly.

A long, low moan came from the room behind them. Moira gave a long look at Cara, trying to gauge her reaction. "You have feelings for him, don't you?"

Cara's face had the practiced expressionless look that many Mord'Sith wore. "Only the feelings that a Mord'Sith should have for the Lord Rahl."

"Of course." Moira said. After a moment she added, "He's not claiming the title, and you know he won't claim the throne. Even though he should."

Cara turned her head to look at Moira so quickly that her loose blonde hair whipped around her face. "I'm surprised to hear you say that. Especially after this last year."

"Why? D'Hara can only be ruled by a Rahl, and Richard would be the first Rahl to actually _deserve_ the throne in maybe 3000 years. If he had taken the power when he could, when Captain Trimack and his battalion had first knelt and said their devotions to him - I imagine Richard'd get rid of that little tradition - but if he _had_ taken the throne, then there would not have been all those generals fighting over power, destroying their rivals' home villages. There would still be law and order, and the bandits and highwaymen and warlords wouldn't have caused so much chaos and death. All that ugliness came from the lack of a strong leader. Rahl may be an evil tyrant but at least he can keep order. Overthrowing a king but having no plan for what comes after isn't the best idea."

Cara had been regarding Moira intently during her speech. When she spoke, there was a tiny hint of admiration in her voice. "That's surprisingly sensible of you."

Moira gave the Mord'Sith one of her small, sad smiles that Fili was intimately acquainted with. "You forget, Cara. I'm far older than any of you. I've seen wars and power vacuums and civil unrest of all kinds. I'm not as naive as Richard and Kahlan."

"Why do you follow Richard if you think him naive? Take his orders?"

Moira considered. "I don't know. I ask myself that sometimes. He's naive, but there's also something about him … Not only is he kind and just, but he has greatness in him, truly. He's a good man, and my friend, and that matters before his being the Seeker." She shrugged. "But if he needs me to protect him from himself sometimes, than so be it." Moira looked at Cara with a sideways glance, and smirked a little. "Don't tell me you think he's not naive."

"Are you kidding?" Cara said dryly. "This quest would have been over much quicker if the Seeker didn't stop so often to rescue damsels in distress, help old ladies across busy streets, and hug puppies."

Moira laughed. "He does fall into the side-quests pretty easily."

"He's gotten _**somewhat**_ better. Thanks, mostly, to us." Cara smiled a cutting smile as she thought. "Kahlan would make an _excellent_ Lady Rahl."

"Don't tell her that!"

Cara laughed, and the smile she gave Moira was one of the rare genuine ones, instead of an arrogant smirk or a half-snarl. "I do have a sense of self-preservation."

They looked away then, both uncomfortable with too much emotional intimacy, and stared at the rough wooden wall of the inn's hallway.

"So." Moira said after a few moments, probably trying to cover up the sounds of moaning coming from the room behind them. "We're agreed that they should rule D'Hara. How do we convince _them_ of that?"

.........................................................................................................................................................................

When Fili turned, he had to keep himself from jumping. Only a few feet away from him stood the dark-haired girl-child that he had last spoken to at the battle for Kattegatt.

The little girl looked even worse than the last time that Fili had seen her. Her cheeks were hollow, the dark bags under her eyes more pronounced, and she clutched her stuffed rabbit so tightly her knuckles were white. She looked terrified.

"Amber," he called to her gently. "Why are you here? Do you know where the grown-up you is?"

She didn't speak a word. She was deathly silent, not speaking at all. Instead she lifted a shaking finger and pointed a few doors down from the one that Fili was standing next to. Fili turned back, intending to thank her, but of course she was gone. Taking a breath, Fili walked to the door that Child-Moira had indicated. It didn't look remarkably different from any of the others he had seen. This one was unmarked; some of the doors had symbols drawn or carved into them, words in languages he didn't recognize, or sometimes the names she had used in the lifetime behind the door. There seemed to be no logic or filing system that he could decipher so far, besides that the memories from one lifetime were usually (but not always) clustered in the same hallway.

Fili placed his hand on the heavy wooden door. It was cold to the touch, much colder even than the chilly air of the rest of this strange, haunting castle. That had to mean something. Sending a silent prayer to Mahal, Fili pushed it open. Inside was Rahl's dungeons. And hanging from the center of the room, stark naked, was Moira. Her body was covered with bruises and cuts, almost from head to toe. Her hair was matted and her eyes glazed. Worst of all was the blood on her thighs; Fili didn't allow himself to think about the source of it right now. Fili waited a moment to see if something was about to happen, if he was going to watch another memory transpire. Nothing occurred. The only sound was the crackling of the torches and his breathing, combined with Moira's much more ragged breaths.

So far, Fili had simply observed her memories from the relative safety of the hallway. This time, he took a risk. He stepped inside the door. His hand was still clutching the handle tightly, and he felt the door try to close behind him. For a moment he considered trying to hold it open, but somehow Fili knew that not only wouldn't that work, but it would be detrimental to his goal of saving Moira. He had to fully commit to this course. When he let go, the door slammed behind him of its own accord. The slam made the room shake and Fili cringed. He had hoped to be quieter; he suspected that after everything Rahl had done to her, there might be a piece of that monster still inside of her mind somewhere. The last thing he wanted was to catch his attention if that was true.

Fili crept slowly up to where his One hung from the ceiling, bruised and bloody. His heart was in his throat as he reached out for her. Relief flooded through him when his hands touched warm flesh.

"It's me, Moira," he whispered. "It's Fili."

She stared blankly through him. Fili's heart twisted, but he knew that it had to be just mental trauma. He had finally seen what she had endured here. He knew now. But he could feel her under his hands, feel her heartbeat hammering under her abused skin. He didn't pass through her like all the times he had tried to touch her before. This was her, not a memory; it was really _her_.

He tried again, with the name she had used in this reality. "Selyse." His voice was a gentle whisper. "Richard sent me. I'm here to save you from Rahl. I'm here to take you away from the People's Palace." It wasn't really a lie. He was. She blinked, slowly. Once. Twice. She shook her head, as if trying to shake cobwebs out of her brain. Fili's heart leapt with joy at seeing her _respond_ to him.

His large hands moved to cup her face, gently forcing her to look at him. "M-Selyse, please," Fili noticed the desperation in his own voice. "Talk to me."

Her brown eyes widened when they met his. "No," she croaked out, shaking her head. "No, it can't be."

"Why not?" Fili asked, his thumbs stroking her jaw gently.

"Because you're not real." Fili felt his brows knit together in confusion, but Moira was continuing, "I made you up. I made you up, to deal with all the horror. I went back to the stories I had always loved as a kid."

 _"What?"_ Somewhere at the back of his mind, Fili was aware that he was not exactly at his most eloquent.

"The Hobbit is just a book." Moira's eyes were starting to go listless again, the darkness creeping forward to claim her mind once more, but she was still speaking. "Bilbo isn't real. Erebor isn't real. _You're_ not real."

It felt like Moira had kicked him square in the chest. Fili couldn't breathe. But before he could process the new and, he'd admit it, _frightening_ information, his thoughts were rudely interrupted.

"You're not supposed to be here," Fili nearly leapt out of his skin when he heard Moira's voice coming from _behind_ him. He didn't want to turn around. He truly didn't. But what choice did he have?

Her dark hair was bound in the same tight braid that the Mord'Sith wore, wrapped at the top of her skull and hanging down her back. But instead of tight red leathers, she was dressed in the uniform of a D'Haran officer, a black cloak hanging off her shoulders, a black tunic emblazoned with the red Crest of Rahl over chainmail. And _oh_ , how Fili hated seeing her wear that symbol, the personal crest of that man who had tortured and raped her, who had twisted her mind to his will, who she still feared enough to cut that symbol from her own skin! Her hands rested on the pommels of twin short swords. But what was truly disturbing was the coldness in her eyes. She watched him with the icy intensity of a predator, with the same calculating, dangerous intent as Rahl.

"Moira?" he said cautiously, even though he somehow knew that his hopes were about to be dashed.

"No." One side of her mouth curved upwards in a cold, cutting, almost-smirk. "But I _do_ know who you are, Fili."

Fili felt as if he'd been doused in cold water. She was stalking towards him now, and he instinctively backed up. She laughed at that, a cold, heartless sound. "What's wrong, Fili? Scared?" she mocked him. Every word was a knife in Fili's heart, a punch to his gut. She wasn't acting like herself. She was acting like Rahl.

"This … this isn't you," was all he could manage. There was a tightness to his chest, and he was struggling to suck air into his lungs.

She laughed again. "That the best you can do?"

"You're Rahl," he tried again. " _Not_ Moira."

"Oh, but I _**am**_ her." She cast a disdainful glance at the Moira hanging in chains. Seeing her abused like this was hard enough on him; seeing two of them was even stranger; the fact that her tormentor in this insane scenario was not Rahl, but _herself_ was almost more than Fili could process. "A part of her, anyway. You would probably call me Moira's dark side."

Fili wanted to stand strong before her, but he found he continued to back up as she approached him. The dark glint in her eyes was terrifying. Even worse was the mocking in her voice, the superior sneer. This was not how Fili had imagined this happening.

"You think you're the big hero in this story, don't you, here to rescue the poor princess." Her voice became simpering on the word 'princess', and she made a mock curtsy. "Well, she's no princess. She thought she was a hero too. But she's not, no more than you. She's weak, and deluded, and stupid. Her fear and pain was crippling her." She grinned evilly. "Lord Rahl made me strong. He freed me from false ideas about good and evil and now I'm free to do what I like."

Fili found his voice at that. "No, you weren't. You were his _slave_. I saw how he treated you."

Moira's fist came at him, but Fili was ready for the attack. He grabbed her wrist in one hand, pulling her closer to him, while his other went to her waist. Her breath caught and, for just a moment, they looked into each other's eyes, before her other fist collided with his temple. But Fili had already pulled one of the swords from its scabbard. He backed up quickly, and pressed the point of the sword to her throat. He could finish her now, if she were any other enemy. But it was _Moira_ looking at him, _Moira's_ dark brown eyes, _Moira's_ lips curled into that evil, Rahl-like smirk, _Moira's_ throat he had a weapon held against. Fili's heart constricted. It made him sick to think that it had come to this.

Fili's voice shook as he spoke, "I-I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh, no, please," she purred as her eyes sparked maliciously. "Hurt me."

Then she had the other sword in her hands, and she brought it crashing against his with a loud _clang_ that shook the room. Fili stumbled backwards. He deflected her blows, but did not attack. She pressed forward, laughing. "Come on Fili! Where's that fighting Dwarven spirit?!"

"Moira, please," he begged as he brought his weapon up to deflect another crushing blow. "This isn't you." Their swords continued to ring together as they fought, but Fili was constantly giving ground, because he wasn't really trying to hurt her. The same could not be said about her, however. Over and over she attacked, he blocked and retreated. Back and forth they went. The room rang as their weapons clashed together.

But Fili continued to try to reason with her. "I saw what he made you do, but I _know_ that it wasn't you!"

"It wasn't?" Dark Moira paused, her braid still swinging from her movements, and she laughed that chilling, humorless laugh. "Funny, I remember my hands getting pretty bloody. Who did it, then?"

"Rahl."

Moira's dark shadow threw her head back and laughed. "Maybe at first. But I served him for over a year. Did you _really_ think I didn't have any chances to run in that time?"

"You were scared." Fili tried to sound certain, but his voice was shaking, and there was a tiny worm-sized bit of doubt wiggling at the back of his brain. "You knew what he would do to you."

"That's one possibility." She gestured with the sword in her hand as she spoke, pacing, a ball of restless, dangerous energy. "Here's another. That it was _easier_ to stay in his service. To take commands. To not think." Their weapons clashed together again, and over their crossed swords their faces drew obscenely close, and her voice was a hiss, as low and deadly as a viper. "Or maybe, I just _liked_ hurting people."

"I don't believe that," Fili protested. "I can't. I _**won't**_."

She smirked, and the pommel of her sword flew up and struck his face, making his vision swim. He had been so intent on the sharp edge of the blade in her hand that he was caught unprepared. He had not expected her to use a tactic that was less than deadly. She knocked his stolen weapon from his hand. It clattered on the stone ground, and she kicked it away as she pressed her sword to his neck. "Moira, please, I love you," Fili pleaded. "And I know you love me."

" _Love_." She spat it like a curse. "Love is a child's dream. A fairytale."

She swept his feet out from under him and he crashed to the ground, his teeth rattling as his jaw hit the floor. Stars sparked behind his eyes and for a second he was stunned. But he rolled away when her foot came flying towards his head in what would have been an extremely painful kick. Fili grabbed her leg, pulling her down to the ground with him. She kicked, but he pulled her to him and climbed on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head. She bucked and thrashed, glaring up at him with hatred, actual _hatred_ , in her eyes. It took all of his strength to hold her down. Eventually she stopped fighting, but her glare was no less powerful. It cut Fili to the quick.

"You going to take me against my will, Fili?" she sneered. "Not very heroic."

Disgust rolled over him at the suggestion. He should have realized after everything that he had seen, everything that had transpired between her and Rahl, that would be her first assumption. And this wasn't really Moira, or not _all_ of her, anyway. But still, that she would think that of _**him!**_ It was like his worst fears come to life. His grip on her wrists loosened slightly, but apparently it was enough.

Somehow she flipped him, and now she was straddling him, and she wasted no time in letting her fury loose. Her fists were everywhere, and it felt as if she were breaking bones. He could smell blood, feel the warm hot stickiness on his face. She snarled and screamed as she punched him, a wordless, piercing howl of rage. He had made her feel weak, he realized through the numbing haze of pain. That was absolutely _not_ the right move to bring her back to herself.

The pain spiking through him was incredible, but worse yet was the knowledge that it was _Moira_ who was doing it to him. And how was she so strong? Moira was strong and tough, yes, an able fighter, but Dwarves were _much_ stronger than humans, let alone the issue of sex. He should have found it easier to overpower her. But he was still thinking as if they were in the physical world, Fili realized. They weren't. This was Moira's mind, her prison, and he was a visitor here, an intruder. This dark shadow of his One had all the power. Or maybe it was because he didn't want to fight her. Perhaps it was both.

She stood, looking down at him coldly. Fili lurched to his knees, coughing, spitting blood and coloring the tan stone red. Moira paused her attack, but was still looming over him.

 _"By the spirits, you're_ pathetic." Some part of Fili's mind noticed that she didn't even swear like herself. She didn't invoke Odin or her Norse Gods. No, she was swearing like the inhabitants of Rahl's world did. As if he needed more proof that her psyche had been so utterly destroyed by that tyrant. If I ever get my hands on him... Fili swore to Mahal that he would make the bastard pay if he ever got the chance. He didn't know how yet, but he would.

"All right." She nodded curtly, decisively, as if she had made a decision. "I know how to prove it to you."

She grabbed him by his hair, pulling roughly, and Fili had no choice but to scramble to his hands and knees and follow where she was dragging him along the floor. The rough stone of the floor scraped along his palms, bloodying them, adding to the aches he already felt in every joint of his body. But that was nothing compared to the stabbing pain of her yanking roughly on his hair. Moira knew how extraordinarily sensitive a Dwarf's scalp was, and she was using that knowledge against him. Through the red haze of pain that clouded his senses, Fili could hear her sneering at him as she dragged him towards a goal that he couldn't discern in his current state.

"You still think she's the innocent victim, even after watching her torture and kill. You want to see just how twisted and dark your little love can get? How about I show you the life right after this one? You can see the choices she made after being freed from Lord Rahl, but when she didn't have the Seeker and the Mother Confessor to dictate what was right and wrong for her."

"You mean Richard and Kahlan," Fili somehow managed to gasp out. "They're your friends, use their names."

It was stupid that her not using their names bothered him so much. There was so much that was _so wrong_ about this entire situation. Not least of which was that chilling laugh, and that horrible smirk. "Maybe after this, you'll understand that Lord Rahl just brought out what was already there. I doubt you'll still love her then, when you see who she _truly_ is."

Fili realized that she had dragged him to a door, and when she opened it, there was nothing behind it but a black abyss of nothingness.

"Moira, please," he tried one last time, but she kicked him into the open door, and Fili fell into the blackness beyond, and kept falling. As he did, he heard the door slamming behind and above him as though from a great height. When he landed on the cold floor, the impact rattling him to his bones and making him bite his tongue, his vision was briefly overwhelmed by blackness.

The first sense to return to him was touch. The cold in the floor seeped into him. The second sense was hearing. Someone was screaming, "Bring Christian back now!"

Fili sat up, black spots still swimming in his vision. He shook his head a little to clear his vision, groaning at the pounding in his skull, and found that the person talking was a middle-aged bald Man. Used to looking for Moira first and foremost, he turned slowly, trying to ignore the severe ache his bones, and found her standing between two younger Men, one so tall he practically made Moira look like a Dwarf herself, and a shorter, green-eyed Man with much shorter hair than his companion. Behind them was another female human, dark-haired like Moira, but taller. From the way that they held themselves, it was instantly clear to Fili that they were all warriors. But they were not wearing any kind of military garb or uniforms. All he knew was that from their clothing, it was a modern world akin to the Marvelverse he had already seen, and that these people were fighters. Other than that, Fili had no clue what was transpiring.

"I'm sorry?" another man was responding as he theatrically descended the rusted metal stairs on the other side of the room. All their eyes were focused on him.

"My nephew!" the first Man who had spoken was yelling angrily. "The one you just crammed a demon into!"

 _Demon_. Fili stiffened.

"Oh. No." the person being yelled at chuckled as he continued slowly down the stairway, coming to stand in front of the bald one. He was shorter than everyone in the room except Moira, but they were treating him as if he were powerful and dangerous. If he controlled demons, or was a demon, than obviously he would be _extremely_ dangerous. "I had him possessed ages ago." the older man looked angry, but, not shocked. "Samuel, really. I keep an eye on my investments." His tone was far too familiar.

"Investments." Moira said incredulously, glaring powerfully at the first man who had spoken, this 'Samuel'. Her hair was short, chin-length, her lip split, and a bruise was beginning to form on her cheekbone. Something had happened in this room, something Fili had missed. He'd been dropped into the middle of a scene where some kind of confrontation had taken place. These people were still running high from the adrenaline and battle-rage of whatever fight they'd been in.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait." The green-eyed man with short hair standing beside Moira spoke up now, looking back and forth between the bald human and the one in the black suit, gesturing with a large knife as he did so. "You two _know_ each other?" his lip curled in disgust at the very idea as he spoke.

"Not in the biblical sense." the shorter man said with a smirk. "More of a business relationship, I'd say."

The other man, the gigantically tall one, declared "You're Crowley's bitch." His voice was full of certainty. This was room was brimming with tension, hostility stretched to the limit and ready to snap. Everyone looked ready to come to blows at a moment. Except for the short, black-suited man who had made an "investment" in Samuel. Crowley was calm, collected, and in control of everything.

"It's not what you think." Samuel insisted, but his eyes were lowered, and he looked … broken. _He's ashamed_ , Fili thought.

"It's precisely what you think." Crowley responded. "That Alpha he's caught me is getting him a gold star."

"You've been taking your marching orders from a _**demon?!**_ " Moira practically howled. That rage-filled sentence she was directing at Samuel got Fili's attention. It was one of the first things that Fili had heard when this spell had started, amid the initial chaos of noise before he had landed in Westeros. Her tirade continued, her voice loud and angry but her dark eyes impossibly hurt. "I _trusted_ you! I told you things! I took _orders_ from you! You're telling me those orders came from _**him?!**_ " She jammed her finger angrily in the direction of Crowley.

He was approaching her now. "And you, of course, must be the lovely Kristina." When Crowley addressed her, his accented voice was a purr. He was clearly making an effort to be charming. "I've heard all about you, and your little problem. Fascinating business. Lovely to meet you in person."

Moira snorted. "Wish I could say the same. Oh, wait, no I don't."

Crowley chuckled. "Witty as well as beautiful. You're the whole package, aren't you?" Fili had no idea what was going on, but his hackles were instantly raised to see what was apparently a demon in human form expressing interest in Moira.

"You may as well share with the class, Crowley." The tall, black-haired man beside her interrupted him. "We know you're looking for Purgatory."

"So you heard about that?" Crowley looked slightly put out at that.

"Yeah." Moira spoke up. "The Alpha Vamp was downright chatty. Wanna tell us what your evil plan is? Come on, no Bond villain can resist the urge to monologue."

"Ah, but we all know how it ends for them, don't we, Kristina?" Crowley eyed her with interest, which made Fili nearly growl in response. After a moment of her glaring back at him, he rolled his eyes and sighed. "Isn't it obvious? Location, location, location." Crowley sighed again, as if the humans in the room were aggravatingly stupid and he hated explaining himself. "I'm a developer. Purgatory is vast, underutilized, and hell-adjacent, and I want it."

"What for?" The shorter one demanded.

"Best shut your gob." Crowley clearly savored giving the command. "Employees don't question management."

"We ain't your employees!" He immediately and angrily shot back.

"Of course you are!" Crowley crowed triumphantly. "Have been for some time now, thanks to gramps. I don't keep Captain Chromedome around for his wit, do I? Samuel knows things. More than any of you, actually. Walking encyclopedia of the creepy and the crawly. And I knew you two are so hung up on family-loyalty nonsense, he said jump, you'd get froggy."

"Yeah, well, the game's over." the shorter man declared.

"Yeah, well, afraid not, not if you want to see Sam's soul ever again." Crowley shot back with a self-assured smirk.

The other brunette in the room gave a surprised, appraising look to the tall man. _So his name is Sam?_ Fili thought. _Wait … WHAT was that about his soul?_

"You're bluffing." 'Sam' responded, his blue eyes steely.

"Tell them, Samuel." Crowley managed to sound bored and in control at the same time.

"He pulled us both back, me and Sam." Samuel sounded defeated.

_Back from where?_

"What?" there was clear betrayal in Sam's voice. "You knew?"

"There's no way." Moira was glaring at the demon. "You don't have that kind of power."

The shorter man nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. Cas says it takes big-time mojo to pull something like that off, and you're nothing but a punk-ass crossroads demon."

" _Was_ a punk-ass crossroads demon. Now?" Crowley smiled. It was not a nice smile. "King of Hell. Believe me, I've got the mojo. I snap my fingers, Sam gets his soul back. Or you can be, well, you, and I shove Sam right back in the hole. Can't imagine what it's like in there. And I can imagine sooooo many things." He eyed Sam as he said this, his voice low, the threat hanging in the air. "So, we clear? Me, Charlie. You, Angels. Job's simple enough - bring me creatures. Aim high on the food chain, please. Everybody wins."

No one said anything. This demon seemed to have them cornered as long as he held the the soul of one of their number hostage. "It's been a pleasure." Crowley's lips lifted slightly in a not-quite-smirk. "See you soon." And then …. he was gone. Just disappeared in thin air. There was no comment on his vanishing from anyone in the room, so had to be a well-known ability of demons here. Fili's head was pounding, as much from information overload as from the beating he had just received a few moments before he landed here. He was struggling to make sense of it all.

"It's time to go." Samuel ordered another woman in the room. "Get the van."

"You're letting a demon call the shots?" Whoever she was, was not happy about the situation, but not nearly as confrontational as Moira had been. She still seemed to hold Samuel in high esteem.

"Nothing's changed." Samuel insisted. "We hunt. Period. Don't worry about him. I'll take care of it." When she hesitated, he shot her a pointed look, and his voice softened just slightly. "You trust me or not? Get the van, Gwen."

"Gwen, don't," Moira said it simply, but there was something pleading in her eyes. The other brunette cast Moira a helpless look for a moment, before her expression hardened and she left, presumably to carry out Samuel's orders.

Sam and … his brother? … trailed after Samuel after she had gone.

"Working with a demon, huh?" Sam said as he stood above Samuel from his perch on a step above him. "You're not who I thought you were."

"You don't know anything about me, son." Samuel snapped as he loaded weapons into a bag.

"So, what's so important that you're the King of Hell's cabana boy, huh?" the other one asked, blocking Samuel's path after he had slung the bag over his shoulder. His voice was taunting, but Fili didn't understand the references. Not that he needed to. The situation was clear enough. "What'd he offer you? Girls? Money? Hair?"

"I got my reasons." Samuel obviously didn't feel like explaining himself, even to his kin. "You gonna make a move, go ahead."

"Or what?" Sam's brother demanded. Fili was certain that the taller one was Sam, and the short one was his brother.

"Or nothing." Samuel shrugged. "I'm not gonna do anything to you, Dean. You boys, you're my _family_. So the way I see it, you got two choices - put a bullet in your grandfather or step aside."

 _So the shorter man is Dean_. Fili thought, still trying to make sense of the scene before him. _Which meant that the tall one IS Sam. And … he doesn't have a soul. How is that even possible?_

Sam raised his hand without hesitation, a weapon that Fili now recognized as a gun aimed at his own grandfather. Dean immediately put his hand gently on his brother's weapon and forced him to lower it.

"He sold us out." Sam stated, nostrils flaring. Sam's blue eyes were cold and predatory, focused solely on his target.

"I know." Dean said softly, catching his brother's eyes. "Let it go."

Sam looked confused. "Why?"

Dean sighed and ignored him, turning to address Samuel instead. "Get out of here."

"You coming, Kris?" Samuel asked without turning around. "Or you staying with them?"

Moira scoffed and crossed her arms, answering scornfully, "I think the answer to that one's obvious." then she looked at the two … brothers? … with a question in her eyes. "If it's alright with you."

Sam shrugged. "Fine with me. You're a good hunter."

After Samuel had finally left, Moira cleared her throat. "So, uh, what now?"

"I still don't know you." Dean muttered.

"Dean, she's cool, I've been hunting with her for a year." Sam protested.

"You hunted with him for year, too!" Dean's voice raised slightly as he jammed his finger towards the door, clearly indicating their traitorous grandfather. "You got no instinct without your soul, man!"

"Yeah, well, I don't have that soulless excuse, sadly." Moira said, rolling her shoulders and grimacing a little, revealing another injury from whatever had occurred earlier. "Trusting Samuel was obviously a mistake on my part, too. Look, Dean, if you don't trust me, I'll go. I prefer not to hunt alone, but there's no way in hell that I'm going back to the Campbells after this, and your brother and I fought well together."

"No, no, it's fine." Dean rubbed his eyes with one hand and gestured absentmindedly with the other. He looked exhausted. "You seem decent enough, especially the way you were pissed at Samuel. You got as much right to be angry as us, what with Crowley knowing all about your weirdo dimension-hopping curse or whatever."

They knew about her? That surprised Fili. Dean was so ... matter-of-fact, about such a strange thing.

"Anyway," Moira looked uncomfortable. "I meant, what are we going to do about Crowley."

"We _can't_ work for him." Dean declared loudly.

"Are you sure about that?" Sam crossed his arms as he spoke calmly.

"I don't think you understand." Dean was still fuming. "Demons bone you _every_ time!"

Moira humphed in agreement. "Yeah, I didn't exactly start hunting to run errands for fucking demons."

"Oh, no, I get it." Sam nodded emphatically. "I do, believe me. Just running the math - do we really have another choice?"

"We kill him – duh." Moira smiled a dark, chilling smile that shook Fili for a moment. That smile – that smile wasn't _his_ Moira. That smile was Rahl, that smile was the dark shadow of herself that Fili had just faced, that had beaten him senseless. _But this lifetime is right after Rahl_ , he reminded himself. At least that was what Dark Moira had said. She was still healing. She was still affected. Of course she was. She was hunting demons in this world not just to do good, but to work out her rage at what had happened to her. She was a warrior, she couldn't just sit still.

"Yes! Thank you!" Dean waved his hand gratefully in her direction as he faced his brother. "I say we stab that limey mook in the throat!"

"Okay. And then we get my soul back how?" Sam asked, oddly calm. "I'm just saying, seems like we got to play ball, at least for the moment.

Dean was shaking his head. "I have done some _**stupid**_ things in my time, but punching a demon's clock?"

"Look, just till we find another way. There was something calculating and logical about the way that Sam spoke and seemed to look at the others, but Fili wouldn't necessarily call it _soulless_.

"And then?" Dean asked.

"And then we track Crowley down and give that son of a bitch what's coming to him." The steel was back in Sam's eyes as he said that. "You with us, Kris?"

Moira nodded, sighing a little. "Looks like I am. Nothin' better to do."

Fili sighed too, as he realized that he was about have to watch an entire other lifetime. He was getting sick of this.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES (I went over the endnote character limit - yeah its been that kind of chapter, hasn't it?)**

 

Okay, I hope seeing her memories out of order wasn't too confusing, but I thought that her worst memories should be literally buried deeper and take Fili longer to find, which is why he sees her Star Wars life before Legend of the Seeker, even though Star Wars is the life immediately before Middle-Earth … so yeah.

Also I thought I should explain something since it kind of confused my beta just a little bit. When Fili found Moira hanging from the chains, my beta wondered why she had convinced herself that the Hobbit was not real, when she's seen other places that are supposed to be fictional. My logic is that he wasn't talking to the whole Moira, just a fragment. Her mind is splintered right now, and the part that Fili was talking to was the part of her that was completely and totally mentally broken. The Moira he was fighting and the child are also parts of her. Right now Dark Side Moira is actually the one with all the information, just, absolutely no conscience. Like her soul's gone. Hope that makes sense.

**_World Notes:_ **  


 

 **Defiance**. The word 'haint' is Deep Southern American slang term for ghost. I'm not sure if it's actually that commonly used any more but its a real thing. Obviously in the world of Defiance, its a racial slur against Castithans because of their ghostly pale skin and hair. _Hanilo_ is a Casti term of endearment meaning dear or darling, but its the female version and is only used to refer to girls and women ( _hanizu_ is for men). Favi is a title of respect for Castis of high birth, like saying Sir or Madam, but it's gender neutral.

Moira shows up in the world of Defiance years before the show begins, and dies in the middle of the third season. I have a whole lot more of her story in that world worked out in my mind, but unfortunately, there just isn't space or time for it. Defiance has such amazing world-building, it feels so fully-realized and I'm sad that it has such a small fandom. David J. Peterson, the guy who made the Dothraki and Valyrian languages on Game of Thrones, also worked on Defiance to make the Irath, Casti and Indogene languages, and unlike on GoT, he also made scripts for them. Its a dumb detail, but I specifically picked one of the few names that had been translated into Casti letters for Moira's name (just because I'm that much of a nerd who likes my backstory and characters to be fully realized, even if it's not going to make it into the story). This is what "Hayley" looks likes in Kastíthanu, if anyone is enough of a nerd to care: [](https://imgur.com/n6hFkO7)

I also spent a RIDICULOUS amount of time researching the Castithan language and customs, I mean HOURS and HOURS, and I have a huge file of words and sentences and stuff. And then I used like 8 words. *headdesk*. One day I may write a Defiance fanfic. There's less than 150 on FFN and like 185 on A03.

 **Star Wars**. World immediately prior to Middle-Earth. In Star Wars, she shows up during the Star Wars: Rebels period (after Revenge of the Sith, Pre-A New Hope). This is one of the universes where she Royally Fucked Up, and gets a lot of people killed, seriously maimed, or worse. In case anyone is wondering, she's not lying to Kanan about the Force visions though, she really did have visions. Ahsoka said that the Force has many names when Moira referred to her past training with magic with Zedd, so does that mean that the Force and magic is basically the same thing? You'll have to keep reading. ;)

In case you are wondering, Moira was a Star Wars geek in her original life, just like she loved the Hobbit, but she wasn't nerdy enough to have seen every episode of Rebels and Clone Wars and have a bunch of knowledge of the expanded universe. She knew enough to recognize the _Ghost_ crew, prior to the start of the show, and made friends with Kanan while he was still just a smuggler, not a Rebel, partially for survival. She knew he was secretly a Jedi who had survived Order 66 and switching gears between modern, medievalish, and sci-fi worlds is difficult (I imagine that's a big part of why she's going crazy – this entire plotline was not planned by me at all, the character kinda forced it on me while writing, lol). She was already a part of the _Ghost_ family when Ezra shows up (making her codename Spectre Six, and Ezra's Spectre Seven).

Ezra's fall to the Dark Side is partially Moira's fault - partially because of Kanan losing an arm to Vader protecting her (and later dying), and partially because he is exposed to her feelings of anger and pain all the time. She can hide her feelings on the surface, but not through the Force. My theory is that Jedi are more sensitive to their environment than others, but Ezra doesn't have the center of control and calm that Kanan does because he grew up a street rat, not in the Jedi Temple like Kanan. Ezra was already emotionally hurt and damaged by the time Kanan took him in, and Siri/Moira's presence on the ship doesn't help.

But there is another important point of divergence that is important to consider. In canon Ezra was experimenting with the Dark Side for the six months between season 2 and 3, which lead to him winning many battles. But the mission to steal the old Y-Wings from the Empire, which Ezra was in command of, was a **_disaster_** in the show. It was a humbling learning experience and Kanan had to save his butt. With Moira there, it was still not perfect, but not the massive fuck-up it was in the show. It wasn't enough to slap some sense into him and make him realize that the Dark Side is not the answer to all his problems.

Because of this, Ezra is notably less compassionate in the next season, because his experimenting with the Sith holocron and the Dark Side goes much further than it did on the show. This is why Moira got a mix of Ezra and Kanan's stories; Ezra is in the process of falling to the dark side (so he doesn't have enough compassion to bother risking himself to break out Kallus when the Rebels think he's been comprised), and Kanan was still learning to function with his disability during early Season 3 (so it was Moira who infiltrated the TIE fighter factory on Lothal with Ezra instead of Kanan, which takes place in ep 9). Obviously to show fans, Ezra has to go dark before Episode 5 of Season 4, because the _Ghost_ crew never returns to Lothal. I imagine he might have gone with Saw after they found the giant kyber crystal that was being shipped to Death Star project, so Ezra could have ended up on Jedha during Rogue One in my AU, if he didn't kill Saw outright when he got fed up with him.

Gods, I am so mean to my favorites! I swear I love Kanan and Ezra! Torturing your favs is an awful, horrible, fanfic writer thing. I also thought that it was kinda like a nice way to bookend Moira's journey, since in her first universe she saves Jaime's hand from being chopped off, and here she makes Kanan lose an arm. Its like a karmic debt or something.

When she starts to develop feelings for Kallus, she can't handle it anymore. She goes to the Battle of Scarif (from Rogue One) knowing its a suicide mission and she'll die, but because she wants to make sure that even though she fucked up Ezra's fate, at least the plans for the Death Star will still get to Princess Leia. At least the Rebels will still have a chance.

Of course, fans of the show might realize that in light of certain revelations in Season 4b, um, maybe the Empire DID win because of Moira. That wasn't my original intention what I started this arc. I wanted her SW arc to be dark, but not THAT dark. But I got jossed by the end of the show, and um, all I say is OPPS. Between Thrawn's TIE Defender project (regular TIE fighters don't have shields, in case you don't know. Thrawn's new fighters do, but in canon they destroyed their ability to mass-produce those fighters, which would have been a massive advantage for the Empire) and the …. ::cough:: unique qualities of the Lothal Jedi Temple (which I'm not gonna mention because the show JUST ended and that's a huge spoiler that actually changes the mythos of the SW universe somewhat), and since without Ezra and Kanan Lothal is never freed from the Empire …. And the fact that Thrawn's military genius would still be in play during the Original Trilogy ..... Yeeeeeaaaahhh, Big Opps. It's not 100% sure that the Empire won because of her, and Moira wouldn't know that they had if they did, but, uh, yeah she just made it a **_LOT_** harder for the Rebels to win.

Oh, and small Rogue One trivia for those who might be interested: Cassian Andor's parents weren't killed by the Empire, technically. He and his parents lived on a Separatist colony on the Outer Rim, and his parents were killed by Republic soldiers near the end of the Clone Wars. But it wasn't too long after that when the Republic became the Empire. He was a child solider defending his home colony and can literally not remember a time when he has not been at war. I hope fans aren't pissed that I made a little bit of a dick, but I hope you can understand that I think he'd have serious problems with Kallus. And they're both Rebel Intelligence, so they had to work closely at times, too.

**Faerûn.** The Dark Elf scene is in Faerûn from the Forgotten Realms books/tabletop RP game. This is another one where I have more of her story worked out in my mind, but I just didn't have time for it! Maybe mentions will be dropped in the future. But her instinctual discomfort around and dislike of Elves had to be explained, and it had to be pretty fucking horrible for it to linger when all her memories are gone.

**Legend of the Seeker/Sword of Truth.** I think I said elsewhere that I was mostly following the plot of the show, but making Rahl darker and more in line with Book-Rahl. In my version, Rahl takes Moira captive at the end of the season 2 finale "Tears" instead of Nicci. So I would guess that is Nicci still running around out there, presumably wrecking havoc (haven't decided yet what I'm doing with her, if anything), and Moira wasn't actually at the Pillars of Creation when our heroes sealed the rift to the Underworld. It's probably Nicci and Confessed Kahlan's fault for her being sidetracked and not being with them at the end, thereby making her vulnerable enough for Rahl to capture. Meaning that her year of hell and service to him started right after the show's timeline/Season 2.

If you are a show-watcher, you may also notice that I made several fan theories explicitly-stated canon in my story. In the show, Walter's resemblance to Darken Rahl is never explained. I went with the fan theory that he is another one of Panis Rahl's bastards, not only because it makes the most sense, but because in the show he's bought back without the Rahl magic and I didn't want to go that route. So if Walter was another long-lost Rahl bastard, he'd have the Rahl magic in his blood that could be unlocked once Darken was in control of his body.

 

I also explained the baneling rules for Rahl's pact with the Keeper. In the books, a baneling was just anybody who worked for the Keeper, not necessarily a zombie that had been back from the dead. Other fans of the Legend of the Seeker show had theorized that every death at the hands of a D'Haran soldier counted for Rahl, since he was first baneling sent back, and obviously that's the version I went with. 

I did struggle for a long time with whether I was going to make Rahl Richard's half-brother (the show) or his father (the books), because that completely changes not only their relationship with each other but Darken's relationship with his father Panis Rahl, and therefore his motivations. In the book he loved his father and wants revenge on Zedd for killing him, and in the show, he _fucking hates_ his father and killed him himself. In the end I went with half-brother because its been so long since I read the books, I know the TV show a lot better. But I still tried to make Rahl a little bit less sympathetic than the show seemed to. The show also aged-up Rahl's sacrifices, showing a teenaged Rahl sacrificing an ADULT woman, instead of a young kid. In the book it had to be a child that was sacrificed, and the ritual was much more involved and horrific than just a quick knife to the heart. If you want to know just how fucked up he is, read chapter 24 of Wizard's First Rule. I don't recommend doing it while eating if you have a sensitive stomach. This is something I allude to here in my fic, with Moira bringing Rahl children to be sacrificed, but she's not involved in the actual ritual and I didn't want to write out the entire thing. ANYWAY. Rahl rant over.

 **Supernatural**. I'm covering the stuff that I'm covering in the mind-trip chapters for a reason. Game of Thrones and Vikings were the most important worlds for the formation of Moira's personality. Legend of the Seeker and Supernatural are the most important worlds she's been in for … uh …. plot reasons. :: cough cough :: I've warned people before that this story is gonna get crazy. If I say any more, I get into spoilery territory. 

 

 **OTHER**. I actually was going to show a few scenes of Moira's first "real world" life. Turns out I can write all matter of fantasy-world abuse, rape and torture and death and even allude to child sacrifice, and not bat an eyelash, but I can't write one scene of realistic child abuse. I'm sure this has to do with my own history. It was just too difficult to put down. I hope people don't feel that there was a setup with no payoff (the bruises on Child-Moira's arms, the angry male voice, what Fili was talking to Child-Moira about in the Vikings chapter) because of that, but I have PTSD from my own childhood and I was surprised to find that I couldn't write that type of real-world violence. That part of Moira's history is gonna have to be addressed verbally when Fili asks her about it, because you can bet he's gonna ask. But I just couldn't write the actual scene. Strange after everything else I had already written. Go figure.

 

As much fun as writing the mindtrip chapters has been, and it is _great fun_ , I can't wait to go back to normal sized chapters. This is an insane amount of work and I hope it's at least enjoyable for my readers. But there will be one more (SIGH). I have a lot of it written, but I can't promise that it won't be several more months before it's out, Sorry. Thank you for sticking with me so far! You have no idea how much I appreciate it!


End file.
